The Fault In Our Infinities
by rebeccamay97
Summary: Hazel Grace has lung cancer. But she refuses to be that 'sick, cancer girl' she's been all her life. Enter Augustus Waters, who proposes to make her feel again. A heartfelt story about a girl who's always been on the outside and a boy, living on the edge, who learns what it is to be of the more fortunate. Rating subject to change. John Green quoted frequently -credit to the author.
1. Beautiful Redemption

**Hey Guys! So I decided to try my hand at a fanfic (This is my first!) and I decided to write about The Fault In Our Stars, because the story really touched me. This is set in a world where Augustus Waters does not have cancer and Isaac is not blind. Also, it's set in England, because I'd be terrible at writing an American story as I am not American! :D If this story gets any readers, I will update as often as I can – though it shouldn't be less than once a week! Drop me a review if you like it! Thanks for your time spent reading this! **

"**My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations."**

* * *

I was not looking forward to going back to college.

Sure, I was seventeen, had good grades and an amazing family. In the first twelve years of my life, I had won multiple hockey awards, participated in three different debating societies and received an award that stated me as the most enigmatic girl in school.

That was before the Cancer.

I'd spent most of my teenage years fighting it off; I had spent four of my birthdays in hospital, two of which unconscious, and I had never been out drinking with my friends, never been to a pool party, never been-

Normal.

Like them. Like everyone else. Like the girls that walked around college like they owned the place, as though the horrors of the world couldn't touch them, as though they were invincible. They wore highly revealing clothes and tossed their hair once every 0.0003 seconds. They went to the bathroom, not to pee, but to reapply their already inch-thick makeup and pull their bras up. They talked about who they slept with that weekend, what test they _didn't_ revise for ('Oh, I'll just show Mr. Michaels a good time and then he has to give me an 'A', right?') and what girl had topped their hit list for that week.

They were vapid and hostile. I avoided them. Or they avoided me. Seventy-five percent of the time, I was ignored, and I was happy about that. Ten percent of the time, they shot me pitiful stares with their botox-filled lips jutted out, as though I was a dog they'd just witnessed being kicked.

The other fifteen percent of the time, they played buddy-buddy with me, buttering me up to see if they could gain some Cancer perks. They didn't have a signed Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. They didn't have Theo James' signed poster. They didn't have Emeli Sande's signed selfie. I did.

But I'd trade it all to be healthy again.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster!" Mum's voice echoes around the house. "We have to leave in five minutes!"

"I know, mum." I call back and then sigh, looking around my room. It seems bare without my few possessions. Everything I own is packed into two suitcases. All the posters are gone, my reading lamp is gone. My dog-eared copy of An Imperial Affliction is no longer sitting on my bedside unit. My bed is stripped and now resembles a hospital bed. I shiver and turn away, not liking the memories that resurface.

"Hazel?" Dad pokes his head around the door. "Come on, sweet, your mum's growing stressed."

"I know, Dad, I just..." I shrug, silently mourning the death of my old room.

"It's hard, huh?" He says, and I know he understands. I nod and he pulls me into a warm embrace. "Hey...It'll be fun." He croons, when I start to cry into his chest. "You love English Lit, right? And you'll make loads of new friends."

"Don't be stupid. I'm a grenade." I say. He sighs, and I know he is rolling his eyes. This is a common argument between us. I'm a grenade – the girl with the cancer. One day, I'm going to blow up, and I don't want to take others with me. Mum and Dad – they've already invested so much into my life; they're already attached. I can't save them. "Besides, the term has already started."

"People won't judge you by your cancer."

"They'll be too afraid to like me." I wipe my tears angrily, my fingers knocking my cannula, the very thing that keeps me alive. I sigh and change the subject. "Can you take my bags downstairs, please?"

"Of course, sweet." He ruffles my hair and I growl and dodge his hand. He picks up my bags while I attempt to flatten my pageboy haircut. He yanks my bags down the stairs and I follow morosely with my oxygen tank. I glance back into my old room and exhale.

"Bye." I say and then I tug my tank down the stairs.

* * *

The college is bustling with activity, people milling about, playing ball, studying for exams, and yet it all seems to stop when my parents pull into the car park. People stare as I step out and there's a small scuffle when my oxygen tank gets lodged in the footwell of the car. I tug on it, swearing angrily, my cheeks blazing. Why can't I be normal? God damn it, God damn it, God damn it.

"Hazel, honey." It's mum at my shoulder. She unhooks the oxygen tank from the seatbelt and pulls it out with an ease that only makes me angrier. "What's the matter?"

"They're staring and I _hate_ it." It takes every ounce of my willpower not to stomp my feet. "Why are people so cruel?"

"Don't be silly; they're not staring." Dad says, retrieving my bags from the trunk of the car. He sets them down carefully. It almost makes me laugh, seeing my Dad tug two pink, butterfly suitcases across the car park, but then I remember that he's doing it because I can't, and my smile quickly dies.

The crowd seems to part for me, and I can't decide if it makes me feel famous, or if it makes me feel like I have a massive, contagious wart on the end of my nose. I take a deep breath, so deep, that it hurts my chest.

_Relax_. I tell myself. _You're doing this for the Lit. You have to learn _more_._

We sign in at the reception and the clerk gives me my room keys, eyeing me sympathetically.

"Oh, darling, we have allocated you a room on the ground floor because of your..." She fumbles for a while and I raise my eyebrows.

"Cancer?" I say, not very kindly. Why can't people just say what it is? Do they think they are going to get the disease if they say the word? It's a random, unpredictable mutation of cells, not Lord Voldemort.

She flushes and nods as if to apologise and I take the keys from her and offer her a smile. I'm not mad at her, not really. I'm just angry at the world for its unfair dish of fate.

"You could have been nicer, sweetheart." Dad reprimands me when we leave the reception. "It's not her fault you're ill."

"You don't need to be so sour." Mum says. "I know how you feel, honey, but your predicament hasn't changed just because you're going to college. You're not any worse off. Besides, I thought you wanted to come here."

"I did." I sigh. "I do." I am struggling to walk the long distance of the car park. "I'm not even upset. I just see all of these people, all of these college kids, and I know what they're doing; they're smoking or drinking or taking drugs and I know they're wasting their _perfectly_ good lives away, and I'm stuck with this carcass of a life, even though I've never done any of those things." I suck in a large gulp of air. The mini-monologue combined with the walking has me breathless.

* * *

My room, it turns out, is actually very nice. It's large – Cancer Perks, I guess – with an ensuite bathroom and a double bed. There's a desk and a bookshelf and the turquoise carpet is clearly expensive; it's about three inches thick.

Dad hauls my bags onto the bed and I go to unzip them. They stand back as I arrange my possessions around my room, clearly knowing I need my independence. At one point, however, I can't stand on my stool to put my hockey trophy on my high shelf because my oxygen tank wire doesn't allow for the height. Before I can grumble, Mum – who is incredibly tall – places it up on the shelf.

I am done in the hour. I sit on my bed and survey my room. A certain sense of satisfaction creeps over me. This is _my_ room. I moved in. I'm not in my parent's house anymore. It's probably one of the first normal things I have done.

Mum and Dad leave me alone for half an hour, whilst they go and grab some lunch. They did invite me along, but I'm not very hungry.

There's a knock at my door.

"Come in." I call, expecting Mum and Dad; they must have got back early.

It's not my parents, but a tall, lithe girl with long black hair and pale skin. She stands with her hand on her hip. I'm instantly on my guard – she looks like the Vapid Girls.

"You're a transfer? We don't get them much." She says bluntly. Then she seems to notice my cannula and oxygen tank. "Oh, you're ill? That sucks."

It's one of the first times anyone has ever talked directly about it. Mostly, people just brush over the issue, or pretend it doesn't exist. I can't help but crack a small smile.

"Yeah, it does." I say quietly.

"So what's the issue?"

"Lung cancer." I say vaguely. She doesn't want to know the science; I barely know it. "Since I was twelve."

"That sucks." She says again. Then she perks up, cancer forgotten. "So you're a transfer, right?"

I shake my head. "I've been working from home all year. Then, just before Christmas, I grew really bored and depressed so I decided to come study here."

"Being at home a lot sucks." She says. "I'm Kaitlyn, by the way."

"Hazel."

She seems to take our introductions as an invitation into my room. "Whoa, you got a nice place. You must be wealthy."

I shake my head. "Cancer Perks."

She shoots me a quizzical look.

I elaborate. "It's what Cancer patients call these little extra thingies that we get. You know, like, we skip the queues on rollercoasters, get signed copies of famous work, get backstage passes to concerts. Because people feel sorry for us."

"Well, you're gonna die anyway, so they probably want you to die happy."

I blink, shocked by her words, but not at all upset. She's right, of course. I'm going to die eventually. I never thought of the Perks like that; that they could be little uplifts to make our sad lives worth living.

"That's exactly what they are." I say, without missing a beat. I'm quickly catching on to Kaitlyn now. She seems the type of person to say what's on her mind before thinking about her words.

"It's a shame you missed fresher's week." She sighs sadly. "_That_ would have made your life worth living – Is that Kate Winslet?"

I follow her gaze to a photograph of me and a woman with short, blonde hair. "Yeah." I say. "I got to go to the Divergent premiere – you know, she plays Jeanine. She took a picture with me."

"But you're on the red carpet."

"Yeah, I guess I am." We fall silent for a while. I feel like I have to explain. "She felt sorry for me...because I couldn't push past the rest of the crowd. So she made a point of dragging me out so I could get my picture done. She also signed my Divergent t-shirt." I wave towards the wardrobe area. "She was really nice, actually."

"You get a lot of stuff." She says, having clearly not heard me. She's still scanning my shelves, and despite the stuff being on display, I can't help but feel she's invading my privacy.

"I'd give it all up if I could give cancer up." I tell her quietly.

"Well, that's not happening."

I narrow my eyes. "No, I guess not." I can't make my mind up about how I feel about this girl. On the one hand, she does display Vapid Girl symptoms. On the other hand, she hasn't ignored me, _clearly_ doesn't feel sorry for me, and knows I exist. She accepts my cancer and hasn't let it shape her opinion of me.

"So, what are you studying?" She asks.

"English Literature." I say. I wave An Imperial Affliction about. "Mostly because this author is studied on the course."

She squints as she tries to read the cover from across the room. "An Imperial Affliction...Peter Van Houten."

"Yup."

"Never heard of him." She says bluntly.

I roll my eyes. "You can't be taking English Lit."

"Nope! I'm studying Fine Art."

Ah. An artist. That explained a lot.

"Hazel, honey?" Mum appears in the doorway, Dad hovering at her shoulder. They both glance at Kaitlyn, smile slightly, and stare pointedly at me. They both seem to say _told you so._

Kaitlyn's eyes grow wide at the sight of my parents and she stutters around her words. "I- I should go. Laters, neighbour."

"Bye." I say and watch, mournfully, as she scurries past my parents and out the door.

"What did you have to do that for?" I whine when the door closes. "I was so close, so close, to making my first ever friend. And then you go and scare her off!"

"We're sorry, sweetheart." Dad says, handing me a cup of lemon tea. "We didn't know."

"Yeah, well, I'm probably going to have to have the whole _'one day, in the not-so-distant future, I am going to die' _conversation with her anyway. That's enough to scare anyone off."

"Everyone is going to die someday." Mum says, pointedly. I shoot her a sour look.

"We bought you something." Dad says, clearing his throat. "To celebrate your first day at college."

I stare at the carrier bag. Something close to excitement curls in my stomach; I haven't felt it in so long. A smile tugs at my lips and I make grabby hands at the bag.

"Dad, please let me have it!" I groan. "The curiosity is _killing_ me. Well, not literally."

They both sigh to show their appreciation for my joke and hand me the bag. I close my eyes and stick my hand in.

Books. Several of them. After a while, I realise they're not just any books.

"You bought my reading list." I say, happily. "For my degree."

"We wanted you to have good resources." Mum says. "You can't use your personal copy of An Imperial Affliction for studying!"

She's right, of course. I'd hate to write notes in the margins of my personal copy. I pull out the brand new copy. It's a different cover – not the original – but I don't really mind. I'm just so grateful.

"Thank you." I say. "But how did you know my reading list?"

"Found it pinned to the notice board this morning." Dad says. He shrugs humbly. "I couldn't resist."

Outside my room, there is a squeal of excitement, followed by running.

Mum gets up. "What's going on?"

When she opens the door, people are running through the corridor, shouting and squealing. I hear two words: 'boys' and 'fight'.

I groan. It's the first day of the spring term and already there are people fighting. "Ugh. I don't want to know." I say, but then I wonder if that's true. I do want a normal life here. I want to live the life of a normal teenager. And normal teenagers would push their way through the crowd to see what the fight was about. "Actually, I do." I say, standing up. "Wait here."

"Hazel-" Mum says warningly.

"Mum, Dad, you wanted me to live a normal life. Well...now I'm living it. Wait here. _Please_." I kick back my oxygen tank and wheel it behind me. I follow the crowd to the car park.

"Hazel!" Someone calls. I whirl and see Kaitlyn coming towards me, a beam on her face. "A fresh fight!"

"Who is it?" I ask, though I really don't know why. It's not like I know anyone.

"Isaac Brown and Nick Trudge." She grins and links her arm through mine, matching her pace to my own slower one. I feel a warm glow in my stomach at her arm around mine. It makes me feel wanted. Normal.

Eventually, we reach the fight and it is in full throe. Kaitlyn points Isaac out to me – the one with the blonde hair. And he is mad.

"Not only did you steal my girlfriend, but you slept with her and then threw her to trash, you dick!" Isaac shouts, throwing a punch at Nick. The other guy gets it square in the eye and he staggers backwards. "No one treats Monica like that and gets away with it!"

"What, you mean you didn't?" Nick laughs. "Have you noticed she has this little habit of gasping when you pull out?"

Isaac reels a string of profanities that even I raise my eyebrows at. He lunges himself at Nick and there's this chant of 'fight, fight, fight!' echoing around the crowd. I don't see much. It's like a little scuffle, but a tall guy blocks my view. I sidestep him and walk forward. People seem to pay me little attention. They pay me enough sight to move out of the way of my oxygen tank and then they ignore me. It's not long before I am at the front of the crowd, with the best view.

"Oi!" Someone shouts, and his voice is distinctly male. I hear him swear softly and then he jogs over to Isaac and Nick, ducking swiftly to avoid a hit from Nick. "Cut it out, you two!" He shouts, yanking at Isaac's arms whilst simultaneously pushing Nick away. The new guy is hot, beautiful even, but he knows it, smirking cockily at Isaac whilst he pulls him away.

"Come on, bro." He says quietly but loud enough that I can still hear. "Leave it alone. He's not worth your time."

"He hurt Monica."

"Only her pride. It was consented sex, Isaac. You can't deny that."

Isaac seems to sag against him, all the fight leaving him. "He's a dick."

The boy shrugs his shoulders. "Maybe, but-"

"Augustus, heads up!" One in the crowd shouts and the boy – Augustus – whips his head around and brings his arm up to deflect a punch from Nick. He staggers from the impact into Isaac, who promptly falls – not expecting the scuffle – into me. I hit the ground, hard, my body twisting, and somehow, I can't breathe.

My cannula has fallen out.

Don't panic. Don't panic.

I concentrate on pulling air into my lungs and exhaling, but it hurts so bad and I know – by the darkening of my vision – that I am not getting enough oxygen in my lungs.

My hand fumbles for the cannula, but I can't see through the blur of my tears. My heart and head pound in sync and my chest tightens further.

"Hey, there." I hear. "I'm sorry about that – are you okay?"

I wonder how long it will take for this person to realise I cannot breathe. Will I die before he realises?

His face swims into my vision. Brown hair, blue eyes, the curve of a confident smirk, now turned down with concern.

_He's beautiful,_ I think, before the darkness swallows me whole.

* * *

**Please drop me a review! Thank you!**


	2. Bitter Wishes

**Hey! Back again! So, I had time to update tonight and as it's the first couple of chapters, I figured, why not? You may have noticed I lowered the rating. It's now rated T. Also, I've had questions on whether or not Augustus has cancer and if Isaac is blind. Augustus is perfectly healthy, and Isaac is not blind! :D **

**Thank you to those who reviewed my last chapter! I'd be grateful for any comments on this chapter, too! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Enjoy!**

**-I'll update as quick as I can.**

"**Without pain, how could we know joy?"**

* * *

I wake to the constant sounds of beeping. My head pounds, thudding behind my eyes. I know, even before I open my eyes, that I am in hospital. The stench of murky anti- bacterial spray and the underlying scent of death and decay fill my nose and I inhale it, not welcoming it, but acknowledging it. I have a love/hate relationship with the hospital; it serves as a constant reminder that I am dying but it gives me the treatment I need to sustain my sorry life another couple of months.

_I can breathe again._ I take a few deep breaths, relief flooding through me. My cannula is back in its place, above my upper lip, the nubbins in my nose. I have never been so thankful for such a small thing.

"Hazel?"

I open my eyes, blinking the blur from my vision groggily. I am hooked up to some machines – most of which are familiar. I roll my eyes and sigh.

"Dad?" I mumble, pulling my weight up so that I am sitting. It's then that I see that it is not my parents, but the boy from the fight. Augustus. He runs a shaky hand through his tousled brown hair, his blue eyes anxious.

"You look happy." I say sarcastically, wincing as my elbow cracks from inactivity as I stretch.

"I just watched a sick girl get pushed over by my best friend. I'm having a little battle with my conscience."

"Huh." I say, fiddling with my oxygen tubes. I itch – they put that ridiculously scratchy blue cover on the bed again. They _know_ I hate it. It's even in my records.

After the silence becomes almost too much to bear, I speak, my voice bitter. "Which side is winning?"

He takes a step forward, guilt flashing across his face. So it's _that_ side. "I'm sorry." He says, quietly. "For what happened. Are you okay?"

I stare at him and my mind is so groggy that I don't even think about my next words. "I'm okay, okay?" I frown. Isn't there some rule against putting two words next to each other in speech?

A pause. "Okay."

My lip twitches. "Okay." There's another stretch of silence. Not as awkward, but not entirely comfortable, either. It's too filled with tension. There's something else he wants to say – something else on his mind. I don't have anything to say. I'm not very good at small talk.

Eventually, he grins lopsidedly. "You're sure, right? I mean, the thing came out and everything. There was even blood."

I grimace. Ugh. So I didn't even half-die gracefully. "Yeah, if the cannula is pulled out too violently, it can be a bit bloody." I shrug.

He nods, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. His blue eyes seem darker than I remember, darker with the shadow of his self-loathing.

"Stop it." I say.

He shoots me a quizzical look. "Did you take a hit to the head? I didn't say anything."

"No." I shake my head, frustrated. "The look on your face. Like you want to jump in front of a bus. Stop blaming yourself. It could have happened to anyone."

"Yeah, but it happened to _you_-"

"Does that make it any different?" I say, my voice rising. "Because I have cancer? So if your friend had hit anyone else, you wouldn't care? Is that what you're saying?"

He grimaces. "No, but-"

"I am _sick_ – excuse the pun – of people treating me differently just because I have a shorter life span. I got in the way of a fight. I should have known I'd be at risk; it's my fault. Stop beating yourself up because your friend knocked down the sick, cancer girl. _Get over it,_ already."

He looks taken aback. I stare at him defiantly. He looks like I just shot someone. After a moment, I can't keep a straight face and my lip twitches. He sees the movement and bites his lip, rolling his eyes.

"I actually thought you hated me then." He said, crossing his arms.

"Me too." I laugh, unable to help myself. "But then... you look like I just told you to drown a puppy!"

He chuckles slightly and the sound is luxurious, and reminds me of sparks igniting, life, happiness. _He's free,_ I think, _free to live. _The thought makes me sad but also somewhat content. At least someone can be happy.

"Augustus Waters." He holds his hand out and I shake it, still giggling uncontrollably. I know what Mum would say if she walked in right now. _I haven't heard you laugh like that in so long. _

"Hazel Grace Lancaster." I say, and I flop back on the pillows, feeling a wave of peace settle over me.

He steps back and stares. "You sure they've not switched the chemicals or anything? You seem..._high_."

"No," I say, "I just haven't laughed like that in...a long time."

He smiles slightly, his eyes on mine, and I'm caught by the strange shade of blue. They seem so bright, more like cyan.

He shifts his weight again. "Okay, well-"

He's interrupted by my nurse. "Hazel, my lovely, favourite patient!" She breezes in, holding a clip board and a small paper cup of pills. "Why didn't you buzz for me when you woke up?"

"I..." I glance over at Augustus, who looks like overly interested in a flamboyant pot-plant on the window sill. "I got distracted."

The nurse checks my machines and takes my blood pressure. She measures my vital capacity of my lungs and records my breathing patterns.

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything between the two of you," she says, flushing slightly. "It's just time for your checkups, that's all-"

"No, you didn't interrupt anything." I hurry to correct her. I shoot a look to Augustus. "We were just..."

He's gone.

There is no indication, no evidence that he had ever stood there. My stomach clenches and I grit my teeth. He snuck out. He probably got bored, figured I wasn't worth his time, and left. Maybe he realised that I was going to cause him nothing more than misery. He just didn't want to make friends with someone who could die at any moment.

He could have at least made up an _excuse_. That would have hurt less.

"Nothing." I say grimly, blinking back irrational, angry tears as my weight sags against the pillows. I feel defeated. "You interrupted _nothing_."

"Hazel..." She says, sympathetically.

"No." I snap, snatching the cup of pills up from the bedside counter. I down them without water, used to the practice. I pull the wires out of my arms and hook my cannula up to my oxygen tank, which stands beside my bed. My nurse tries to stop me, saying she _understands_, that it's _okay_ to be upset.

She doesn't understand. And it's not okay.

I long for a dramatic exit, to be able to get up, storm out and slam the door behind me, like every other girl. Instead, I sit up, kick back my oxygen tank and spit, "I don't need your pity."

I walk as fast as I can towards the door. At the threshold, I stop. I feel guilty, leaving like this. But I'm angry – so goddamn angry.

"Thanks for your help." I mutter irritably. I don't want to say it, but I do. I leave before the guilt can make stay.

* * *

_Count thy blessings_, I think. That's what Patrick, my old support group leader taught us. Count thy blessings because things could be worse. Count thy blessings because there are golden moments as well as trashy ticks.

I kick a beer can across the road, dragging my tank behind me, cursing along the way.

"Stupid, cocky jerk thinks he's better than me." Kick. Clunk. "What a pretentious _asshole_!" Kick...Clunk. "Yeah, well, I'll show _him_. He better not come asking for favours because there's no way I'm helping him with anything. He can have a taste of his own medicine." I put some real force into the last kick as I walk through the college gates. The can lifts off the ground and clunks three metres away. A sense of pride flashes through me and I smirk.

Who am I kidding? Augustus Waters was not the type of guy to come asking for favours. Besides, he was so freaking attractive that he probably had a whole posse of followers willing to do anything for him. Nope, he'll probably forget I ever existed. For some strange reason, this makes me furious and I kick the can again, grunting with the force behind it. What an asshole!

"That's it, girl, get it out of your system." Someone says. "Show the can who's boss!"

I turn, raising my eyebrows as a blonde guy saunters towards me. It's Isaac. He sports a black eye and a split lip, but otherwise he's healthy. I scowl. _He_ was in a fight and I ended up in hospital? How is that fair?

"I heard you got out today." He says, pacing his steps to match my own. "I'm really sorry about what happened. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." I say bluntly. I frown. "Wait, where did you hear that from?"

He shrugs. "Gus." He says. "He was super worried after you fell. Picked up your oxygen tank, hurled it at me and picked you up. Practically ran to your parents. He didn't know what to do."

Crap. I had completely forgotten about my parents. I probably left them in the hospital cafe. The nurse would tell them where I went, right? I'd drop them a text later.

"Yeah, but he's a jerk."

"Well, that jerk stayed all night at your bedside. He was beside himself with worry."

I cough. "Unlikely. He doesn't even know me."

Isaac grunts. "I don't know. I'm just saying." He winds his headphones around his finger. "I think he felt guilty."

"Because I'm the sick person of the school?"

"No, because you _are_ a person." Isaac says calmly. "Whilst Augustus is the most pretentious asshole I have ever met, he is also one of the kindest. He probably blamed himself for you getting hurt and made it his responsibility to ensure you were okay."

"Yeah?" I scoff. "Well, he bailed."

Isaac doesn't miss a beat. "He's an asshole."

"Finally, we agree on something."

Isaac sighs. "You shouldn't be so hard on him. It takes a certain kind of goodness for someone to wait beside a stranger's bed _all night."_

"A creep." I retort, but my heart isn't in it. Isaac is right; there must be at least an ounce of sensitivity for Augustus to stay with me for so long. The thought is unsettling. I thought I had him figured out. The popular guy with no real feelings for anything that doesn't include smoking, drinking and sex. Clearly, Augustus is more complex than I originally thought.

* * *

Classes don't start until Monday, so I have thirty-eight more hours of freedom. I spend most of it holed up in my room, rereading An Imperial Affliction for the fifty-ninth time. I check my blog and write a short story twenty two times, struggling to translate my ideas from my head to paper. Mum and Dad call Saturday evening and complain at my neglect of them – _We were so worried – you could have died – _and telling of Mum's most recent attempt to burn the house down. She's terrible at cooking.

Late Sunday afternoon, there's a knock at my door. I answer it, pulling it only slightly open. I poke my head through the gap.

"Hi." I say, seeing Kaitlyn's face. She's tied her black hair back, strays escaping down her neck. She looks beautiful. She smiles when she sees me, and it's so genuine that I can almost feel the warmth emanating from her.

"Hey, girl." She murmurs. "How've you been?"

"Same old." I say, shrugging. I hold the door open wider, inviting her in. "What's up?"

"There's a beach party tonight – celebrating the end of the Christmas holidays."

"A beach party?" I laugh. "Whose crazy idea was that? It's winter!"

She laughs. "It was one of the lad's actually – figures." She sits on my bed, eyeing up my laptop and books curiously. I've decided Kaitlyn really likes to learn about people. She seems to be always curious about their hobbies and possessions.

"So?"

"So, are you going?" She asks. "We can go together. They're going to hold a barbeque and a camp fire. Most of – well, everyone – is going to be there."

I grin, excitement bubbling within me. A chance to go to my first beach party, to live life like the rest of them? I would do almost anything for the chance.

"Yeah, I'll go." I say, trying hard to keep my tone level and my reaction nonchalant.

"Great!" She jumps up. "I'll bring some hot chocolate if you bring hand warmers."

I smile. She's noticed my collection box of hand warmers on my shelves. "Alright." I agree.

She leaves, shutting the door behind her. I jump twice, clapping my hands and squealing quietly under my breath like a little girl. I'm going to a party. Like normal teenagers! I'm going to finally act my age!

"I'm going to love it here." I say breathlessly. The jumping has killed my breathing patterns. I collapse on my bed, trying to imagine what tonight is going to be like.

* * *

The beach, as promised, is crowded. I put on some jeans and a dark, woollen pullover and yet I am still cold. Music blares from speakers propped up on rocks and a roaring bonfire rages in the centre of the crowd.

"How are they allowed the fire?" I ask Kaitlyn, raising my voice to be heard.

"I don't know, really!" She shouts back. "One of the boy's uncles own this section of the beach or something like that. I don't care – just enjoy it!"

The scent of sausages sizzling on the barbeque fills my nose and the sound of people shouting and squealing set my nerves alight. Here and there, people swig on a bottle of cider or beer, and a cloud of cigarette smoke seems to constantly fill the air. Normally, I'd worry about the effect on my lungs. But today, I don't care. I don't care if my life shortens by days for this. I need to enjoy myself.

"Oh, look!" Kaitlyn points off into the crowd. "Monica's back with Isaac – wonder how long that will last."

I laugh but I don't find it funny. I remember the look on Isaac's face when he fought Nick. I shudder at the thought of Monica playing him again. Isaac doesn't need to be hurt twice.

"Hahey!" Kaitlyn cheers and I realise that most of the crowd are applauding some guys who are currently surfing. I don't understand how they can brave the cold, even in wetsuits; it's the beginning of January, for God's sake! Nonetheless, I watch, grinning, as four or five lads hit the waves. With a jolt, I recognise Augustus. His brown hair is plastered to his tanned face and his beam is wide as he pumps his arm in the air, receiving another wave of cheer from the crowd.

I nudge Kaitlyn. "I do not think I have ever met a more physically attractive person who is more acutely aware of his own physical attractiveness."

"He's cocky." Kaitlyn agrees. "But he's so freaking beautiful."

That, I can agree with.

* * *

Later on, the party's raging spirit seems to die to a simmering ember as the crowd sit in romantic couples or bantering groups. Kaitlyn has disappeared, but I don't mind. I sit on a sand dune, my oxygen tank beside me, as I watch the sun go down. The music is softer, the fire burns lower, and the sun casts orange and purple shadows across the empty sea.

"Mind if I join you?"

I jump, but pretend like I knew he was there all along. "What's the point in asking? You do what you want to do, no matter who it hurts."

Augustus flinches as though my words physically hurt him. He takes a seat beside me, one knee bent, one outstretched, a bottle of cider resting on his knee. I draw my own knees up to my chin.

"We got off on the wrong foot."

"You think?" I turn away from him, determined for him not to see me cry. "You were a jerk."

"I didn't want to leave you." He says softly. I can hear the genuine truth in his voice, see it in his pained eyes. "I just..."

"Didn't want to be friends with someone who's about ready to kick the bucket." I wipe at a tear angrily, feeling as though my emotions are betraying me. "Do you know what it's like, Augustus Waters, to never have any friends? Do you know what it's like to grow up, a shadow of the person I could have been, reined in by a cell mutation, by a random error?" I exhale, trying to calm my hysterical thoughts. "Until today, I had never been to a party before. I've lived a life of people constantly avoiding me, as though they're afraid cancer is contagious. I've seen mothers pull their children away from me in shopping centres, seen people leave the seat next to me vacant in buses in favour of sitting beside a hooded, antisocial teenager. I am an outcast of society and soon, I am going to be an outcast of this world."

"Hazel Grace..."

"No, Gus, listen to me." I plead. "I am tired of being that 'sick, cancer girl.' I am done with being a ghost to everyone. To being that girl that everyone's afraid to know. I don't want to be...this _grenade_ anymore."

"Then don't."

I look at him. "Huh?"

He takes a moment to respond. He stares at me, his blue eyes beseeching. "Forgive me, and I can teach you the wonders of life. I can teach you to be this teenager you've always longed to be. I can help you live the life you've always wanted." He takes a swig of his cider while I just stare at him, uncomprehending. "I know you don't have long; we both know it. So forgive me and make what little time you have left the best you've ever had."

"Why would you waste your time with me?" I say. "You have so many friends-" I wave my hand towards the crowd of people. "You could be like the others; pretend not to notice me."

"But then I'd be lying to both of us." He says, getting up. "Because I _have_ noticed you, Hazel Grace."

I can't understand Augustus Waters. There's something about him that I can't comprehend. I don't understand what motivates him, what makes him want to be my friend, what makes him different from all the rest. There's something about him that calls to me and I'm not sure if it is his personality, his carefree attitude...or if it's the promise of the life he presents me. Either way, when he offers his hand to me, I take it, and he smiles at me, the smile of a friend.

Perhaps this won't be such a bad idea, after all.

* * *

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	3. Larger Infinities

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**"The world is not a wish-granting factory."**

* * *

Classes begin the next day. Kaitlyn doesn't help me find my way; she pops on to her own art lessons. People bustle about, folders in hand, gossiping about the Christmas break.

"And my mum totally flipped! I mean, they've only known each other like 2 months and they're getting _engaged?_" I hear as I walk down the corridor to my lecture room. I sigh.

I find my lecture room door. I knock and enter, a queasy feeling in my stomach.

"And you'll find that Anna represents the imperfections in our society-" The lecturer, who looks a lot like Rita Skeeter from Harry Potter, stops, seeing me. "Oh, Hazel, is it?" She has a kind voice, thankfully, and she quickly bustles around her desk to give me the handouts the rest of the class currently have on their desks. I try not to look at them too much – my stomach plummets further.

"Here you go, sweetheart. We've only just started today's session." She hands me the relevant pieces of paper. "If you'd like to take your seat – we're just going over the Christmas assignment of An Imperial Affliction by Peter Van Houten, which I believe you're familiar with. We're discussing the idealistic view of Anna's mother's life compared to her daughter. You'll find the summary on the second handout."

I nod. Waving vaguely at the seats – again, without looking at the other students – I say, "shall I sit anywhere?"

"Of course, darling. Wherever's easiest."

Gnawing on my lip, I kick back my oxygen tank and drag it down the aisles between the desks. I sit in the second from last row, parking my tank up beside me as I set my papers down. I can feel the weight of everyone's eyes on me, and I keep my eyes firmly on the table as I sit.

I notice a small symbol engraved into the wooden desk. It has two loops, joined together. With a jolt, I recognise the infinity symbol: ∞. Why would anyone draw that on a desk?

Someone slides into the desk behind me and I look up to the teacher, trying to concentrate. I can't afford to get distracted in my first class.

I listen and take notes, understanding all of it. This lesson is relatively easy – I've read An Imperial Affliction so many times that I can easily remember every major and minor sub-plots and all the quotes.

About twenty minutes in, I feel something poke my back.

I turn and gape.

Augustus Waters is sitting at the desk behind me, flicking a pen around his finger. He grins, crookedly, a shining light in his blue eyes. He doesn't appear to have paid attention to the teacher – there are no notes on his handout.

"What?" I ask, amicably.

"I believe you're sitting at my desk."

I flush and stutter. "I am not!" I protest. "This isn't _your_ desk." I'm aware of how pathetic it sounds and my cheeks redden further.

He points to the desk with his pen, the lid now between his lips. "That symbol. What is it?"

"The infinity symbol." I say, unable to stop myself from tracing it with my finger.

"Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." He quotes, the lid now clamped between his white teeth.

"Where's that quote from?" I ask, hearing the note of admiration in my voice. It's an apt quote – ambiguous.

He chuckles, leaning back in his chair easily. "Me."

I scowl. "Aren't you _truly_ philosophical." I turn before he can answer.

I hear his low laughter and feel it caressing over my skin. I grit my teeth, trying hard to listen to the lecturer's thoughts on the Dutch Tulip Man. It was probably the singularly most difficult thing I've ever had to do, especially as Augustus _kept_ on poking me.

"_What?"_

"I just thought I should tell you that you look a lot like Natalie Portman in _V for Vendetta_."

I shake my head, frowning. "What are you talking about?"

"It's a movie." He says, his antagonistic smirk still twisting his lips. He chews the pen lid thoughtfully and I suck in a sharp breath. He is _beautiful_. "A thriller, actually."

"Super." I think I've heard of it. "I've never seen it."

"Well, we should watch it." He says, tapping his pen like a drumstick against the table. I am acutely aware of the other students listening in. "Together."

"Are you asking me out?"

He looks away, but not before I see a flash of negative emotion pass across his face. I narrow my eyes. What is he about? "No." He says, quietly. "I just mean...friends."

He doesn't want to ask me out because I have cancer. Is he that horrified by me? He'd been so kind to me last night, at the beach. He'd treated me like an equal, like I was normal. We'd built a mini sand castle and then promptly knocked it down. I had buried him in the sand, laughing as I had built explicit body parts in sand on top of him. I hadn't laughed like that in a long time. The thought makes me bitter now. I bite my lip, tasting blood. "I can't." I say, "I'm busy." I turn back around.

"You are a piece of work," I hear him chuckle, but the sound is slightly off.

I can't help it. I turn around and whisper feverishly, "I don't want to hang out with someone who is horrified by my disease! You want to be friends with me? You have to accept all of me. Cancer and I are one in the same. Get over it."

He blinks, shocked by the anger in my tone. I face the front, but not before I see a bunch of people nearby avert their eyes, pretending to be absorbed in the lesson. My eyes sting with tears but I blink them back, refusing to cry.

He leaves me alone after that. When the bell signals the end of morning classes, I get up and leave, but he intervenes. Stupid oxygen tank. Will I ever be able to make a hasty exit?

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"I thought we agreed to be friends."

"Me too."

He runs a hand through his brown hair, uncomfortable. "I'm not ashamed of you." He blurts out, eventually. "I'm not horrified by your disease – in fact, I respect it. Cancer's not the bad guy, not really. Cancer just wants to be alive. I don't let it shape my opinion of you – actually, it hardly factors in at all."

"So what is your problem?"

"I don't think we feel the same way about each other." He says, and colour rises to his cheeks. "I think you...I..."

"You're right." I say. "You like me and I, currently, have a strong distaste for you."

"You do?" He asks, surprised. "I just thought...I..."

Comprehension dawns. "You think I have a crush on you?" I ask, ignoring the butterflies in my gut. "Wow, I've had several people warn me of your pretentiousness but even that might be modest compared to the truth."

The cocky grin resurfaces. "You are very good in an argument. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Furious, I hiss, "No, because until now, there has never been anyone I've hated enough to argue with!"

Before he can say anything else, I kick back my oxygen tank and walk away.

"Hazel!" He grabs my wrist. "Look, I'm being a cock and you're being..._defensive_. Let's both drop it and actually be like what we agreed to be, okay?"

I stare at him. "Friends?" He nods and a small part of me is disappointed. I ignore that small part. "Fine. Okay."

His breath leaves him in a whoosh. "Okay."

"So, yours or my place for _V for Vendetta_?"

He grins. "Yours." He says, "I'll bring the movie, you deal with snacks, okay?"

"Okay."

* * *

The rest of the day drags. I don't see Augustus again; he doesn't come back for the afternoon lesson. When the final bell eventually rings, I drag my tank back to my dorm room and shower and change. Then I sit and read An Imperial Affliction.

I've just reached the bit when the Dutch Tulip Man and Anna's mother have an argument when there's a knock at the door.

"Come in." I say, pulling the carrier bag of food onto the bed. Gus saunters through, holding up the DVD copy of _V for Vendetta._

He launches himself onto my bed, wriggling until he's comfortable. I don't have a television in the room, so we play it on my laptop. It does mean we have to squish up close, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, the Augustus Waters now is very different from the Augustus Waters I encountered earlier. He's kinder and less arrogant.

Half way through the film, I remember the reason we're here. "Hey, I look nothing like Natalie Portman." I grumble. "She's way prettier than I am."

"Is she?" He asks, frowning. "I think you two look exactly alike."

When the movie ends, we just sit there, watching the credits role on the screen.

"What do you think?" He shuffles to a more comfortable position.

"I think the movie is overrated, but it was okay." I say, picking up my copy of An Imperial Affliction and putting it on the bedside unit.

"You clearly spent more time analysing every single minute way you and Natalie Portman differ than actually watching and enjoying the film." He says, stuffing his hand in the popcorn bag and throwing kernels into his mouth. I have to admit, I'm impressed by the trick. I've always wanted to do that, but the cannula gets in the way.

I grin sheepishly. "Guilty."

He shakes his head exasperatedly. I can't help but laugh at his bemused expression. "So that's your favourite movie?"

He thinks for a moment. "I guess so, yeah."

"Huh."

"What?"

"Well, that's not what I expected from you."

"What did you expect?" He asks, leaning back to regard me sceptically. "I'm not a closet Disney lover, if that's what you're thinking."

"I don't know. I was expecting like...Fast and Furious. Or Scream."

He throws his head back and laughs. A slow smile forms on my face at the sound. "What?"

He shuts up immediately. "Nothing. What's yours, then?"

"Uh..." I shrug. "Would it be bad to say Spiderman? The old one."

He raises an eyebrow. I bite back a jealous sigh. I've always wanted to be able to do that.

"Spiderman? Let me guess, you think he's cute." He rolls his eyes. "All the girls say that but if he showed up and asked you out, you'd all turn him down."

"I wouldn't." I say quietly.

He sobers. "Why not?"

I fidget, my hands in my laps. "Well, I'm a gawky girl with cancer. I'm short, freckled, with short hair, small boobs and to top it all off, I'm going to die. I haven't really got my standards set very high."

He looks away. "You shouldn't let your cancer dictate your life." He says it softly. When I don't say anything, he smirks. "Besides, the size of your set really won't mean anything. There are guys that are into that sort of thing."

"Child molesters?"

He laughs so hard, I think he's going to fall of the bed. "Hazel Grace," He breathes, between gulps of hysterical laughter. "You are _not_ like the other girls."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I look away, unable to fight the giddy smile from my lips. "I was serious, you know! Besides, you can't expect any guy to date a girl with numbered days."

The smile dies from his lips. "Love is not limited by numbered days."

"You _are_ really philosophical." I say. "And pretentious."

He shrugs, a cocky smirk twitching at his lips, folding his arms back over his head as it lies back on my bed. I sit there, my legs crossed, laptop perched in my lap. I don't know how to react. _He is on my bed. _He digs his hand into the popcorn bag again, and throws another cluster into his mouth.

"What?" He asks, when he notices me staring at him.

"I've always wanted to be able to do that." I grumble.

"'Always wanted' as in, it's on your bucket list?" He says, "Or 'always wanted' as in, it looks cool but you've never tried it?"

I consider him. "Oh, it's on my bucket list." I say eventually. "I've _never _succeeded."

He sits up, interest lighting his face. "It's all in the posture." He says, adopting a stern voice. "No slouching, or it won't go in your mouth."

I snicker and he draws back, staring at me. "What?"

I'm laughing so hard I have to whisper to get my words out. "_That's what he said._"

Comprehension dawns and he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously. It's the first time I've seen him truly embarrassed. I think I hear him mumble "not like the other girls," before I dissolve into another fit of laughter. I laugh so hard, my chest starts to sting.

"Hazel," Augustus says, back to business.

I hold a hand up. "I can't breathe!" I gasp, trying to calm my hysterics. I clutch my chest as I regain control over my breathing and he watches me, bemused, as I sober up, donning a serious face. "Sorry. This is what amuses one who's lived a sad life."

"Define sad."

I ignore him. "So it's all in the posture, right?"

I sit up straight and he shakes his head, reaching for me. He places his hands on my back and stomach and I suck in a breath at his gentle touch. My stomach somersaults and I yearn to both move away and closer.

"You have to arch your back." He says, "So that you can look up and see where the kernel is falling."

I adjust my position under his touch. "Okay?"

He removes his hands and my stomach drops with disappointment. "Okay." He confirms.

He kneels up, holding a popcorn kernel between two fingers over my head. I see his face, alight with amusement as I open my mouth.

"Catch." He says, and he drops the kernel.

It misses, hitting my cannula and falling onto the mattress. I groan in disappointment but he only laughs.

"Oh, come on!" He says, "That wasn't _too_ bad! No one does it on their first try!"

We try and try again. I am about to give up when he drops it and I feel a small thump in my mouth as the kernel hits my teeth and almost chokes me to death.

I swallow and fist the air, exuberant. "I did it!"

"Okay, now let's try throwing." He sits back, shuffling into position. He picks a popcorn piece out of the bag and aims. "Ready?"

"Uh-huh!" I nod, mouth open, watching the kernel. He throws it, and it hits me straight on the nose. "Hey! That was a terrible throw! Where are your aiming skills, Augustus Waters?" In mock-anger, I throw the popcorn back.

He returns the throw, shouting in indignation. I laugh as we fire popcorn kernels at each other, dodging and hiding as if the popcorn could kill. I can't go very far; my tank's oxygen lead doesn't allow for it, so I hide beside my bed while he aims from the other side. After a short while, we run out of popcorn, so it's a scramble for the kernels on the bed and floor while we both try and win over the other. I launch myself on the bed as I spot a small ammunition pile between the pillows. I scoop them up in my palm, feeling the kernels hit my skin as Augustus continues to pelt from the floor. I throw them back and he yelps as one hits him sharply in the eye. I laugh and keep on giggling; and I can't stop. I've never felt such unadulterated joy before. He lunges over the bed, spotting another small pile of popcorn and then somehow, his weight is over mine and we freeze, realising what has happened.

He stares at me, his eyes scanning my face. I'm still trying to catch my breath but I'm fixed by the mesmerising shade of blue in his eyes. I'm surrounded by Augustus Waters' clean, masculine scent. My heart thuds so loud that I am sure he can hear it and he is looking at me like I've never looked at anyone. What is he thinking? I'm not sure I want to know.

"I should go." He whispers, but he doesn't move.

I bite my lip and, against my screaming instincts, nod. "Yeah." My voice cracks.

He closes his eyes for a moment longer than necessary, inhales, and then swings himself off of me. By the time I've sat up, he sits on the floor, picking at the popcorn kernels. I start clearing the bed. The silence is so much, too much to bear, and suddenly, I burst out laughing.

"Hazel Grace?" Augustus looks at me quizzically.

I shake my head. "I don't know." I breathe, hysterically. We finish clearing the kernels and he puts his jacket on, his hand on the door handle.

"I've never laughed like this. Never had this much fun." I blurt. "You're good for me, Augustus Waters."

He looks at me sadly and I see a glimpse of the same emotion I saw earlier, when I asked him if he was asking me out. I suck in a sharp breath. Pain. That's what crosses his face now. Combined with the sadness in his shining eyes, he looks nothing like the carefree boy I am getting to know.

"Unfortunately, Hazel Grace," He says, smiling forlornly, "I cannot say the same."

Before I can respond, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

It is the first time that I have seen a different side to Augustus Waters, a side different to his cool, pretentious self. A thought appears to me. He is not exempt from the pain in the world. At one point, somewhere, with someone, Augustus Waters has already felt the sharp sting of anguish and sorrow.

And I'm doing nothing but giving him more.

* * *

**Bittersweet ending to another chapter. **

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	4. Metaphorical Questions

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"**He had a heart as figuratively good as his literal one sucked."**

* * *

I don't see Augustus Waters for days afterwards.

It frustrates me, and upsets me, but I think I understand what is going on. He's finally realised that I am going to cause him nothing but pain. He's avoiding me, but I'm not so offended anymore. I have come to see that there is more to Augustus that what I originally thought.

"Are you listening to me?" Kaitlyn nudges me, a frown on her face. I shrug.

"Kind of." I say, looking over her shoulder, across the courtyard. As if drawn to my thoughts, Gus stands there, talking animatedly with Isaac. He hasn't seen me yet, so I take the opportunity to stare at him, to admire his beauty. He really _is_ beautiful. There is no other way to explain him. As I watch him, he pulls out a packet of cigarettes. My wistful longing plummets and anger brims.

"Excuse me," I say to Kaitlyn, not waiting for a response as I kick the tank back violently and breeze past her. I keep my eyes fixed on Gus, who now has a cigarette wedged between his lips. A smirk curves at his mouth at Isaac's next words, but I am too furious to hear them.

Gus doesn't notice me until I am almost standing in front of him. "Oh," He says, blinking, the cigarette bobbing up and down between his lips, waving like a red flag. "Hi, Hazel Grace."

"How could you?" I ask, quietly. "How could you stick that..._thing _in your mouth and not feel the shame of what you are doing?"

He looks confused for a moment and then light dawns in his eyes. He flicks the cigarette between his fingers, holding it up for me to see. "You mean this?"

I nod, stone-faced. "I thought you were better than that." I hiss. "You promise friendship to someone who spends every _single_ day of their life struggling for more air into their lungs and you're just _willing_ to get rid of yours!"

"More for you, I guess." He smirks, shifting his weight to regard me. "What do you care, anyway?"

"I have freaking lung cancer, prick."

"Are you two going to fight again?" Isaac asks. "It seems like you spend more time fighting than you do being friends."

I whip around to retort but Augustus interrupts me.

"Hazel Grace, it's a metaphor."

I narrow my eyes, scanning his face for some kind of hint that this may all be just a joke. "What?"

He regards the cigarette thoughtfully. It's then that I realise that he still hasn't lit it.

"It's a metaphor, see; you put the killing thing right between your teeth, but you don't give it the power to do its killing." He nods his head, a smirk playing at his lips. "I never lit one."

Embarrassment pools inside me, twisting at my insides. "Oh." I say. Humiliation and anger burn inside me and I can't stop the words that leave my lips, despite regretting them instantly. "That's the most stupid thing I have ever heard."

He shrugs, placing the cigarette between his teeth very obviously. I roll my eyes and huff. Isaac spots Monica and leaves us alone and suddenly, I am very conscious of how close we are, of his eyes on mine. I am acutely aware of his presence.

"Hazel Grace, are you going to be at the barn dance tomorrow night?"

I blink, surprised at his words. "I didn't even know there was one."

He runs a hand through his mahogany hair, staring at me calmly. "We make a big deal of them around here."

"We're not anywhere near the country." I feel compelled to point this out. "We're in the middle of a city."

He shrugs. "Exactly." He says, his blue eyes lighting with something that looks like a challenge. "I don't understand why people feel the need to classify one thing away from another. Why do we feel the need to call a fly a fly and not a wasp? Because it doesn't have a stinger? Because it doesn't look the same? Hazel Grace, your argument is invalid. I really want to see you at the barn dance, tomorrow night, okay?"

I try to fight a smile. Really, I do. But it twitches at my lips until I can't help but laugh. "Okay."

"Okay." He makes a movement that looks like a salute, but then I realise that it is him tipping off an imaginary cowboy's hat to me. I smile again, my fingers playing with the tube of my tank.

"I can't dance." I wave to my tank for emphasis. "So I won't be much fun."

"Who says there's any fun in dancing?"

* * *

Later on, Kaitlyn and I sit in my room, watching videos on the internet and streaming movies illegally. After a while, she grows bored and goes back to her room. She returns holding a small, purple bag.

I eye it like it holds the plague. "What is that?" I say warily.

"Your hobbies differ from mine." Kaitlyn almost looks put out. "Can I paint your nails while you surf blogs and obsess over fictional characters? Pleeeeeeeeaaaaseeee?"

She looks so childish, so eager, that I have no choice but to concede. She squeals and jumps on my bed, laying out her array of colours and tools. I quickly start to regret my rash decision.

"Don't get the varnish on my bedding!" I cry as she unscrews the top of a dark fuchsia rather haphazardly. "And there is no way I am allowing that colour to come anywhere near me."

She pouts but screws the lid back on. "Fine." She sighs. "Pick a colour."

I eventually pick a modest dark blue and she sulks but gives in. She paints the first two fingers in silence and I trawl through my favourite blog happily.

The silence doesn't last long. "You know, I've been thinking."

"Uh-oh."

She pulls a face at me, her eyes still on my hand. "Augustus Waters spends a lot of time with you."

"Actually, I've been thinking he's avoiding me."

"He doesn't ever avoid. He just...doesn't have anything to do with anyone who isn't shallow and vapid." She still won't look at me.

"Vapid Girls."

"Yeah." She pauses. "So I was wondering – since you're neither shallow or vapid – why he's taken to you."

"He hasn't." I say. She looks at me quizzically then, so I explain it all to her. I explain his maddening behaviour; how he stayed the whole night at the hospital, only to bail without reason. I describe how he promised to be nicer to me at the beach and the fun we had afterwards. Then comes our arguments in class, and his dismissive behaviour towards me.

"So he doesn't like you."

"Well, I don't know." I say. "He came over the night."

"He _what_?" Kaitlyn gapes. "Why?"

"He wanted to watch a movie. _V for Vendetta._ He wanted for me to see the resemblance between myself and Natalie Portman."

She scrutinises me for a moment, her nose crinkled critically. "I don't see it."

"Me neither."

"So then what?" Kaitlyn asks, excitement blooming as she bounces impatiently on my bed. The nail polish bottles clatter together. I wince; I have a feeling that my bed covers are going to resemble a four-year-old's artwork by the end of this.

"So then we..." I blush and look away. For some bizarre reason, I don't want to tell her about the popcorn fight. It sounds petty, or childish, or cheesy. It wasn't, but I'm worried she will try to tarnish my perfect memory of it. "talked. And he left. Just got up and left. I haven't really seen him since."

She sags, disappointed. "So that's that."

"Well, I saw him today." I say quietly. "He wanted to know if I was going to the barn dance."

Shock blankets her pretty features for a moment. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up, girl."

"What?"

"He 'wanted to know' as in wanted to know, or 'wanted to know' as in _wanted to freaking know?_"

"I'm confused by the difference."

"Hazel Grace Lancaster!" She shouts and I flinch, not expecting her change in tone. "How did he ask you?"

"What?"

"What did the goddamn boy say?"

I am so confused. "He said..." I struggle to remember. "He asked me if I was going to be at the barn dance tomorrow night."

"So?"

"So I told him I didn't even know there was one...because, you know, we're not in the countryside or anything."

She rolls her eyes. "Details, details. What did he say?"

"He went off on a tangent about humans feeling the need to classify everything."

"His usual pretentious self."

I shrug. "Then he said he really wanted to see me there."

She stills for a moment, holding the bridge of her nose in thought. "I think Augustus Waters kind of almost asked you out."

"No, Kaitlyn." I say, a melancholy feeling building up inside. "He wouldn't do that. I know how he feels about me."

She groans. "But I want something to happen. If _I_ can't have him, someone decent should. He is the hottest boy in college!"

"Yeah well, Augustus Waters isn't the type of guy to go pining after half-dead girls."

"Shame." Kaitlyn sighs sadly, a note of wistfulness in her tone. "He is so beautiful."

"Hmmm-mmm." I agree, fiddling with the tank tube. "He is way out of my league anyway."

Kaitlyn doesn't disagree. She's nothing if not blunt.

* * *

The next day is a half-day, so I only spend the morning in lessons. Augustus sits behind me again, and he pokes me with the pen every five minutes; I can't tell if he genuinely wants to speak to me, or if he's deliberately trying to wind me up. Sometimes what he says is relevant and makes sense – it's about the work or the barn dance or he's noticed that I have engraved another infinity symbol next to his on the table. I try to cover it up, embarrassed, but he only laughs and asks me why I drew it. I don't answer.

Other times, what he says makes no sense at all.

"Hazel Grace," He says, when I sigh and turn around for the fiftieth time. "I have been thinking."

"Look out."

He ignores me. "Dreams are useless."

I frown. "Why?"

"Well, you have a dream, you make it come true." He says. "Now what? It's occurred to me that the voracious ambition of humans is never sated by dreams coming true, because there is always the thought that everything might be done better and again."

I stare at him. He seems to be waiting for an intelligent response, but all I can think to say is, "Okay."

He nods, satisfied. "Okay."

I really don't know what else to say, so I turn around, trying to wrap my head around his words.

* * *

After class, I go shopping with Kaitlyn – who has the whole day off as her lecturer is sick. She insists that I buy a new outfit for tonight, picking items of clothing off the shelves that I have to remind my parents to not even let me wear in my coffin. I can't decide if it's her sense of fashion or mine that is truly hideous. I'm guessing mine.

"Hazel, you're not being very helpful, girl."

"I'm sorry." I grumble. My legs hurt and I have a serious headache. We've been at it for hours, and to no avail. All I've managed is a few sympathetic looks from strangers on the street and a mother dragging her curious son away from me. Ignorance is the breeding ground of hostility.

"Look," She says, but her attention is suddenly distracted. "OHMYGOD."

"What?" I ask, looking behind me, my heart thudding like crazy. "What's wrong?"

"Not wrong." She says, "_Right_. Look. At. That."

I follow my gaze to a manikin, dressed in a cowgirl's outfit. She dons artificially torn jeans and a white shirt, with a yellow necktie, brown, knee-high boots, and a red cowboy's hat. I have to admit, the costume looks good.

"_That_ is what you need, Hazel!"

Panic. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Nada. Not for me, my friend."

"I will not accept that for an answer." She drags me to the counter. "It will suit you perfectly – um, excuse me?" She tries to flag down the shopkeeper. She glances at Kaitlyn, alarmed, but relaxes when she sees me. There's nothing like a cannula to change your opinion of two teenage girls.

"Excuse me," Kaitlyn waves at her again, though she's already on her way over to us. "Hi, my friend here has been asked out by this really cute boy. She's going to a barn dance for her date and, well, would it be alright for her to try on that outfit? Only, it's impossible to tell if she'll be able to wear it, with oxygen tank tubing and all."

"Oh, of course!" The lady says, relief flooding into her face. My face is burning. Kaitlyn is totally playing to the woman's affections! And when did I ever say anything about a _date? _

When the woman walks off to retrieve the costume, I nudge Kaitlyn in the ribs. "What the hell? My cancer doesn't stop me wearing clothes, you know!"

She shushes me. "Shut up. I know what I'm doing."

I roll my eyes. "Don't play on my disease. It's low, even for you."

She sighs but relents. "Fine."

The woman comes back with the outfit and directs us to some changing rooms.

I get changed, feeling ridiculous as I pull the boots on. I don't put the hat on my head, but instead tie it around my neck, so the hat hangs down my back. I step out of the changing room, scowling.

"Kaitlyn, this is ridiculous."

"Sweetie, you don't understand our barn dances. We dress up. We role play. They are a hell of a lot of fun." She adjusts my neck tie. "Perfect. You'll fit right in."

"If you say so." I go back to take it off.

* * *

After we've bought the outfit – which cost me a serious dent in my small allowance – we venture into the heart of the city centre to buy donuts and coffee. It's nice, walking around with Kaitlyn. If I absorb myself into whatever gossip she's talking about fully, I can almost forget about the glances and stares I get from the rest of the public. It makes me happy; it's the closest I've felt to normalcy.

The coffee makes my headache slightly better but I'm still tired, so in the end, Kaitlyn and I give up on browsing the shops and head back. She still hasn't finished talking, but that's okay, because I'm alright to just listen. Sometimes, it's good to be given the chance to forget about your own problems and immerse yourself in others'. And their problems make me feel lighter, more relaxed, because they're not over-problematic or a matter of life or death. They are just simple, even slightly glorified by Kaitlyn's descriptions.

"So I think Monica is cheating on Isaac again."

Wait, what? "I hope not." I groan. "Isaac doesn't need to deal with that kind of pain again."

"I don't understand what he sees in her." She says. "She sleeps around, bitches about him, and is over-jealous when he even looks at another girl. You should have heard the bite he got from her when he spoke to you yesterday."

"What?" I frown, confused. "When?"

"Apparently he was there when Gus asked if you were going to the barn dance?"

"Yeah, but-"

"So he spoke to you and Monica gave him an earful of it." She adopts a snide voice, her face distasteful, like she just swallowed a lemon. _"'You just like her because she's cute. Because she's vulnerable. You want to save the damsel in distress and because she's got cancer, you're gonna feel sorry for her and then fall in love with her and that's just unfaithful to me because you're in love with me.'"_

I can't help it. I burst out laughing. "You're not serious."

"As serious as a serious-person."

I try not to wrap my head around that too much. "So Monica's jealous...of me?"

"Of course, girl." She says, as though it is obvious. "If you can capture Augustus Waters' attention, capturing Isaac Brown's would be easy."

"But I don't want to-"

"Sweetie, it doesn't matter if you don't want to. The fact of the matter is that Monica is jealous that you have two boys at your heels and she has none."

"I _don't_ have two boys at my heels." She just looks at me. I sigh, giving up. "Well, if she wants to keep her boyfriend, she should start treating him better."

"Preach it, girl."

* * *

Later on, I stare at myself in the mirror, hating my appearance. I hate my chubby cheeks – from the drugs I've been taking. I hate my pageboy haircut, the freckles on my face, the cannula in my nose. I hate how skinny I look and how plain I am. There's nothing particularly special about me, nothing that makes me stand out. For one moment in an unending expanse of time, I hate myself.

But then I remember I don't have time to hate myself, so I turn away and pick up my purse, phone and keys and pocket them. Kicking back my oxygen tank, I head out the door.

* * *

My headache only gets worse as I arrive. The music is loud and upbeat, countrified pop. The party is held in a field, but it is alight with fixed lights – obviously hired for the event. Hay bales are dotted around the place, as are stray tankards of beer and plates of unfinished hog roast. Kaitlyn waits for me outside the gates, as promised, dressed in a similar outfit to my own. However, whilst mine is white and unadulterated, hers is black and red, and her lips shine with sultry lipstick. I envy her courage to wear such a costume.

"This is going to be so strange." I shout over the music to her as we walk in.

"Roll with it!" She calls back and then she's gone – Kaitlyn style – and I am left alone again.

I sigh, heading for the nearest bar. I order a small glass of beer and sit on a hay bale, content to watch everyone else. It doesn't take long for me to spot Augustus Waters; his pure vibe and energy is enough to pinpoint him in this crowd. He wears a light brown, leather jacket over a white shirt, and casual jeans. He's smiling as he twirls a girl under his arm and then they all form lines, clapping to the beat.

I'm not upset that he's dancing with one of the Vapid Girls. I feel like I shouldn't let my emotions pierce his happiness, his pure, authentic joy. He throws his head back and howls with laughter as the dance continues, twirling another girl under his arm as she nears him. The clapping resumes. I relish the sound of his laughter as I watch him. A strange feeling gathers inside me. Wistful longing. I want to be the girl he laughs with. I want to be the girl to instil within him that great measure of joy.

I look away, my eyes stinging. I will never be that person. _Get over it,_ I think sourly.

"Hazel Grace, you are looking positively forlorn."

I jump and my chest gives a sharp sting as I do. "Augustus Waters, don't you dare sneak up on me like that again."

He grins. "My apologies." He stands before me, hands in pockets, staring down at me. "Anything on your mind today?"

"No, I'm great." I say. "Yourself?"

"I'm on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend."

I nod. At that point, another girl comes up behind him, tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. She eyes me disdainfully, a measure of pity in her eyes. After clearly evaluating me as not a threat, she turns to him.

"Gus, you're missing the best part of the dance."

"Hang on a minute, Olivia."

She sulks and shoots me a sour look. So _now_ I'm a threat.

"Go." I say, shooing him away. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow to knives sewn into my floor."

He looks at me weirdly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean if you don't go and dance with those girls, right now, I am probably not going to be alive tomorrow to tell the tale of my sorrowful murder."

"Technically, if you were murdered, you wouldn't be able to tell the tale anyway."

"_Augustus_," I groan. "Go!"

He grins, tipping his imaginary cowboy's hat to me. "Back in a moment, okay?"

He leaves and I watch him go, smiling sadly. Too late, I say, "Okay."

But of course, he is too far gone to hear me.

* * *

**Please leave a review! I have so many ideas for this fic but I need to know if you guys like it, first! Thank you :D**


	5. Truths Untold

**Another update! I know I've managed like one a day for the last few days but that's because exam season is coming up and my updates are probably going to turn temporarily weekly at that time because...well, A levels suck- anyway, my updates are quick because I feel guilty that one day, they're not going to be. But I'll try! Whatever happens, it won't be less than once a week!**

**Anyways, this chapter is a little angsty (is that even a word?) So, if you like it, please review. If you don't, please review anyway and tell me how to improve! **

"**You are so busy being you that you have no idea how unprecedented you are."**

* * *

Augustus doesn't spend long with the other Vapid Girls. They sulk as he shrugs off their offers to dance again, and shoot me sour glares when he strides over to me.

"You've been sat there all night." He notes, sitting beside me.

"Shouldn't I?" I say, patting my hay bale. "It's comfortable."

"You came to a barn _dance_."

"I _can't_ dance." I point out and I see a flicker of a smirk cross his face before he adopts a serious expression.

"Well, then I think you'll have to leave."

"Augustus," I say solemnly. "You cannot kick someone out of a party that you're not even hosting."

"Damn," He sighs dramatically. "And I thought it was socially acceptable."

"There is nothing about you that is socially acceptable."

He grins, acknowledging my words. "You're not even enjoying yourself, are you?"

"I am!" I protest. "I like watching people."

"Creep."

"Augustus Waters!" I half-shout, exasperated. "Why do I get the feeling that nothing I ever say will be good enough for you?"

He doesn't reply. Instead, he says, "I'm not doing my job properly if you're not having fun."

"I am-"

"Look me in the eye and tell me that this is the best party you've ever been to – imaginary or real."

I bite my lip and look away. "I've never been to another party."

"I did specify that it could be imaginary."

When I don't say anything, he throws his hands up. "Exactly my point." He stands and offers me his hand. "Come on."

"I can't dance." I say it slowly, like I am speaking to a four-year-old, because I have told him the same thing several times tonight.

"With them." He agrees, nodding to the crowd of people that all dance together, clapping their thighs and swinging invisible lassos over their head. "But you can dance with me."

I freeze, staring at his feet. He's wearing brown ankle boots and they actually suit him. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Questioning my motives only delays the inevitable." He takes my hand, pulling me up against my will. I tip my head back and sigh, giving in.

He takes my hand and turns me around, and I have no choice but to take my tank with me, else I risk getting caught up in my oxygen tubes. We dance together, clapping in time with the beat. After a while, people begin to watch us and I know that they are secretly judging. _He's dancing with her because she's sick. He feels sorry for her._

But I know that's not true. Augustus Waters dances with me because he promised to help me see the wonders of life. To see the passion, the fire, the sheer joy of human beings. He dances with me to prove to the others that cancer does not define me. That I am Hazel Grace Lancaster. _Just_ Hazel Grace Lancaster. I'm not my cancer, and my cancer is not me.

It's easy to ignore the rest of the crowd when I look at Gus. He encompasses my whole vision, until I see nothing but his blue eyes, his confident smirk. He holds me gently, but firmly, like he's afraid of letting me go. He accepts that if I move, my tank comes with me. And he doesn't care that the other girls are jealous, that they're staring at me as if I am vermin. Augustus Waters pays them no attention, and for the first time, I feel special, wanted. I feel the pride that comes with having the most popular, coveted boy genuinely want to spend time with me. Want to see me smile.

The song merges into another and Gus laughs as I frown at the tempo. It's so fast – more like pop than country – and the lyrics disturb me.

As if he has read my thoughts, Augustus rolls his eyes. "This song is so oppressive to women."

I nod, but don't say anything. I am out of breath from dancing – my lungs burning with the extra oxygen I need to take in.

"Like, he wants his girls twerking like Miley Cyrus, in bras and thongs and whatever. That's double standards against a society that frowns against females that are flashy and flamboyant." He sighs, turning me again, laughing as I get caught in my oxygen tubing. I groan and unwind myself. "I mean, women must be so fed up with hearing two different things. Exhibit A: Keep yourself covered – don't be a get-around. Exhibit B – Get as naked as you legally can and shake everything you've got just for my pure enjoyment. It's animalistic. It's disgusting behaviour. Men shouldn't treat women like they're party animals, trained to do what they want, when they want. They should treat them like equals. In fact, we should stop objectifying women –and men. The fact that this song is so popular in today's society disappoints me."

"Augustus."

"What?" We clap along to the beat now, looking at each other. I am so out of breath that I can feel a sharp pain in my lungs.

"Shut up." I say, though I agree with him. "As much as you're right, and I admire you for your views, I really don't want to hear them right now."

"Okay." He says, and I collapse on to the hay bale.

"Okay." I breathe, exhausted. He grins and sits next to me. We're both silent, until suddenly, I laugh and then I can't stop, so I lie back on the hay bale to try and get some more air into my lungs.

"You do that a lot." Augustus says, lying back next to me. "You just burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter for no apparent reason."

"It takes some time for my brain to process what's funny." I say, between fits of chuckles.

"So..." He waits, clearly expecting me to say more.

"So I just realised that I just did something I never thought I'd have the chance to do before I die." I say, and suddenly, it's not so funny anymore.

"I don't get the joke in that." He says. "The thought of you dying is not very appealing to me."

I don't know what to say to that, so I just say, "Okay."

"Okay." He responds and I sigh irritably.

"Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Why do you say 'okay' after I say 'okay', all the time?" I throw up my hands in mock frustration.

"Actually, I'm pretty sure it's been the other way around some of the time."

"It has not." I say, but when I look back at it, I realise it has.

He shrugs. "It's our thing."

"Like in Harry Potter, Snape would say 'always' when Dumbledore asked him how long he had loved Lily Potter."

He nods. "Exactly like Harry Potter."

I can't help my next words. "Maybe 'okay' will be our 'always.'"

He frowns, and I think he is going to shake his head, but then he turns to the side and stares at me. He looks at me for so long that I am about to call him out on it, but just as I open my mouth to speak, he says, "Maybe it will."

I glance at him, but I'm not really sure what his words mean. I push my nagging thoughts away and change the subject. "I love the night's sky. There's something about having a sheet of darkness punctured by small darts of light that's so beautiful."

He doesn't lie back down. He stays facing me, leaning on his elbow. "My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations." He says, his voice so soft that I barely hear him.

"Who said that?"

"Me." He says, but there's no hint of a joke in his words. "Hazel Grace, did you have fun tonight?"

I look away from the stars and make eye contact. His blue eyes are soft, vulnerable, kind. This is a new side to Gus, a side I have not seen before. "Yes." I say. "This is most likely the best night of my life."

He reaches out, touching a stray lock of my hair, thoughts swirling behind his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" I whisper.

He hesitates. "I am thinking about marks. I am thinking about the marks I will leave on you, and the marks that you will leave on me. I am thinking about the marks that have been left on the both of us before now."

"Marks help me remember what is good about life."

"But Hazel Grace," He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, I see a void of tragedy, of sadness within them. My chest tightens and I forget to breathe. His despair is tangible; I can almost touch it. "The marks humans leave are too often scars."

"Maybe." I whisper. "I'm afraid of leaving scars."

He just looks at me, and suddenly, I want to tell him how I feel, what I am thinking. My words pour out, almost against my will.

"Gus, I'm a grenade. At some point, I'm going to blow up and I would like to minimise the casualties." I exhale, all the fight leaving me. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to leave a lesser scar."

"You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world." He says.

"Gus-"

"No, Hazel Grace," He sits up, staring at me with renewed strength. "You realise that trying to keep your distance from me will not lessen my affection for you. All efforts to save me from you will fail."

My breath catches and I feel like I'm falling. I've never met a person like Augustus Waters, who says things how they are but ensures you know nothing but the bare truth about them. He speaks his feelings with no hint of shame, no hint of fear. I've never met someone like him but I am already captivated. I'm captivated by the shade of his eyes, by his cocky smile. I'm captivated by the way he says 'okay' after I do, by the way he calls me 'Hazel Grace' instead of just 'Hazel.' I'm captivated by his metaphorical insights, by his astute views of the world. I'm captivated by Augustus Waters and I know that all efforts to save him from me will fail, but so will efforts to save me from _him_. We are a shipwreck, already sinking, with no means to cry for help.

He sighs and lies back down, staring at the night's sky. "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves..."

"Let me guess." I say. "You?"

"Actually, no." He says, a hint of a smile playing at his mouth. "That was Shakespeare."

I feel so stupid. How did I forget that famous quote? "I knew that." I say. "I'm a Lit student."

"Sure."

* * *

The next day, classes resume, and I wake up, my head pounding, to a text from Gus.

_Stole your phone last night. _It reads. _Just so I could put my number in it. Here, have it back._

I laugh because I read it in his voice; I can imagine so vividly him saying it.

As I walk down the corridor towards my lecture room, I sense something wrong a moment before it hits me.

I'm slammed into the locker, my oxygen tank tilting – only prevented from falling by the fire extinguisher next to it. My chest tightens instinctively, and I struggle to draw in air.

A blonde girl glares at me, her pale eyes malicious and cruel. Monica.

"You think you're clever, little girl?" She spits. "Using cancer to seduce men that don't belong to you? I don't care if you're sick; I _will_ hurt you."

"What are you talking about?" I gasp, my head reeling.

"You think I haven't noticed how much time you've spent with Isaac? You went to the barn dance because he was there, and I _saw_ you talking to him earlier."

"I went for Gus." I can barely breathe, so I keep my sentences short. "Not Isaac."

"Gus is using you. You think he hasn't done this all before? You think he hasn't tried to help a terminally ill person, tried to make them see the light in life before theirs is snuffed out? You're not _special_. You're not _wanted_. He's just too kind to tell you that he's done it all before. You're not 'his girl', you're a _hobby_."

Pain blooms in my chest and I want to cry out. But I don't. I hold it all in because I don't want Monica to see me cry. Instead, I grit my teeth and spit, "I already know all that."

She blinks, surprised. But then it's gone and her cruel expression is back. "Stay away from Isaac. He's _mine_. Bitch."

She lets go and I draw in a deep breath, filling my lungs with much-needed air. Tears burn my eyes and I blink rapidly, desperate for them to go away. I don't want Augustus to see them when he comes to class. I don't want him to see how much the truth has hurt me.

* * *

I ignore Augustus all lesson. He pokes me in the back with his pen multiple times, but I resist the urge to turn around. Whilst the teacher's back is turned, he slides me a note, but I screw it up and fling it in the nearby waste basket without even reading it. I think he gets the hint, then, because he doesn't bother me again.

The bell rings and I get up, kicking back my oxygen tank with such a force that it tips over. I feel a wrench at my cannula, but thankfully, it doesn't fall out. Luckily, the Lit teacher has taken this time to talk to Gus about his coursework, so he hasn't caught up with me. I take advantage of the situation and walk as fast as I can out the door.

Kaitlyn drops beside me in the corridor and, as usual, she is blunt.

"You look like shit, girl." She says. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I say quietly.

"Nope." She stops me, laying her hands on my shoulders. "You're practically in tears, Hazel."

I look away, blinking furiously. "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"Did you know that Gus makes...a _hobby_ out of helping terminally sick people?"

She drops her hands. "I heard a rumour." She said, sadly. "But I didn't know it was true."

"Well, thanks for telling me." I try to walk away, but she holds me back.

"Hazel, listen to me." She says, her voice breaching desperation. "I didn't want to say anything to you because I didn't want to ruin the little bubble of happiness you have around you at the moment. When I met you, you were this...depressed girl with cancer. But when you're around him, you're alive, you're...animated. You're happy. I didn't want to be the girl who burst that bubble. I didn't want to do that to you."

"So why did you encourage it?" I ask, wiping angrily at a stray tear. "Why didn't you at least warn me that Gus wasn't to be trusted?"

"Because he _is_." This is a new voice. Male. I turn to the side and see Isaac lounging against a locker, his blonde hair like an angelic halo around his face.

"Isaac," I say, unable to stop the venom from entering my voice. "It's your girlfriend that told me. Why don't you ask _her_ about it?"

"Monica's not in the right frame of mind, right now."

"No kidding."

He looks at me, pity in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hazel." He says. "I'll talk to her for you. And lay off, Gus, will you? It takes a lot to be nice to someone who is constantly picking and choosing between friendship and hatred."

He leaves and I stand there, stunned at his words.

"Hazel." Kaitlyn says. "I don't think you're just another terminal for Gus."

"I don't believe that." I whisper, staring at Isaac's slowly diminishing figure as he crosses the courtyard. "I don't know what to believe anymore."

* * *

That night, I'm caught drifting in and out of fitful dozes, tossing and turning. It rains outside, and the patter of raindrops is loud on my window, not helping matters. I groan and start awake, blinking as I sit up.

My head hurts and my eyelids are heavy, but all that seems to go away when I see a figure stood at the edge of my bed.

"Holy freaking shit." I curse, scurrying up near my headboard frantically. I flick on my lamp and flinch as harsh light floods the room. It takes a while for my eyesight to adjust, but when it does, anger soars.

"Augustus." I say, my voice deadly quiet. "What are you doing in my room at three o'clock in the morning."

"Come with me." He grins, a flash of white teeth. He's fully dressed, his mahogany hair sopping over his face. He's drenched from rainwater. But he looks normal, and he's alert, which is a good sign. "I want to show you something?"

For a moment, the sheer insanity of the situation pushes the anger I feel towards him away. "And it can't wait till a more socially acceptable time?"

"I've already told you." He says, "I'm not very socially acceptable."

"Gus, I'm not going to lie, this is super creepy."

"Hazel Grace, I promise I'm not here to harm you or creep you out or make you uncomfortable at all. I just really want to show you something. And I want a chance to explain myself without having other people interrupt."

I look at him. He stares at me, so earnest, so desperate, that there really is no choice in the matter. I unhook my oxygen tubing from my other machine and hook it onto my tank, sighing.

"Okay." I say. "Where are we going?"

"Hazel Grace, you should probably consider getting a coat, first." He says. He flicks his thumb towards himself. "Unless you are ridiculously blind or inattentive, I am soaking wet. It's raining."

I want to stay serious, I really do. But there's something about Augustus Waters' innocence, his adorable, unsure manner that makes me smile.

"Okay." I say, picking up my raincoat. He smiles, genuinely pleased.

"Okay."

And then we're both gone, wandering the outside world at three o'clock on a Thursday morning.

Augustus Waters must really mean something to me.

* * *

**Please drop a review :D**


	6. Broken Promises

**So this chapter was what gave me the idea to write this fic in the first place. It's so special to me, so precious. I think it's the most beautiful chapter...So yeah, it was fun to write.**

**Anyway, enjoy! Read and review! **

"**He specialised in the murder of dreams, Hazel Grace..."**

* * *

"Hazel Grace," Augustus says, as we walk calmly down the dark, surprisingly empty streets of the city, rain falling lightly on our clothes. "I have heard on the grapevine that you are mad."

"Basically, Kaitlyn told you."

He ignores me. "But you see, to be mad is to be ignorant. And to be ignorant is to have no empathy."

"I don't understand how you made those links." I say, but I am serene, listening.

Again, he doesn't answer me. "Kaitlyn said you heard what I do?"

"You do this for everyone." I say, unable to explain my deep sadness. "For every sick person."

"That, of course, is not true." He says, and my heart leaps. "It would be impossible to help _everyone_, of course."

I sigh, my stomach plummeting. "So it's true."

"It's true." He says, and then he says nothing more.

We turn into a small lane. In the dark of the night, illuminated by just the moonlight, the pathway seems beautiful. It's overgrown with bushes and trees, but the green leaves glitter with the raindrops, sparkling in the night.

I don't ask him where we're going. I just walk beside him in silence.

We reach another pathway, this one at a steep incline. Gus asks if I can manage it, and I nod, not wanting to turn back now. We make our way up the pathway, and it's not until we're half-way up that I realise we're climbing up a cliff. The wind that sails off the ocean batters at me, but I fight it, inhaling as deeply and evenly as I can manage, ignoring the sting of my struggling lungs.

Finally, we get to the top. The sight steals my breath away. The ocean glitters underneath the light of the moon, washing calmly onto the surface of the silent beach below. The cliff hangs over the beach, so it looks like we're sat above the sea. There are some grey clouds in the sky, darkened only by the night's shade. Rain falls, drenching us further, and though I am slightly cold, there's no place I'd rather be than right here, on top of this beautiful cliff, staring nature in the face, with Augustus Waters.

He takes a seat near the edge of the cliff, crossing his legs, looking into the horizon. After a while, I sit beside him, close enough to feel his body heat. We don't speak for a while; we just enjoy the beautiful of the natural world before us, both of us accepting that someday, there'll be no more.

As if to voice my thoughts, Augustus finally speaks, his voice so low that I almost miss his words. "I fear oblivion." He says.

"You do?"

"I fear it like the proverbial blind man who's afraid of the dark."

I close my eyes, inhaling the light scent of salt and the sea. "Augustus."

He just sighs beside me.

"Augustus," I say again, and I open my eyes and look at him directly. "There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything."

He nods, swallowing slightly. "Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of..._this_...will be for naught." He agrees.

"Maybe that time is coming soon," I tell him, "and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of the sun, we will not survive forever."

He says nothing. He just looks away. "Nothing lives forever, Hazel Grace."

"Augustus, if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it." I sink my head in my hands, sighing. "God knows that's what everyone else does."

He stays silent, regarding me. Eventually, he smirks, "You are not like the other girls."

"So you've said."

He reaches out to touch my arm. "I want to apologise."

"For what?" I say, slowly pulling my arm away. "You've done nothing wrong."

"I want to apologise for making you believe I've never done this before." He says. I just look at him. What am I supposed to say to that?

"The truth, Hazel Grace, is never pretty. It's ugly and it hurts and I hate it." He grits his teeth and his voice is surprisingly bitter. "But I'm going to tell you the truth. As if you don't need any more pain."

"You sound like you've had your fair share, already."

He doesn't respond. He just takes a deep breath and begins to speak.

"I was ten when she died." He says, his voice cracking. "Imagine a ten-year-old me. Full of life, of energy, of joy. I had an older sister. Her name was Martha. She was..._is_...everything to me."

I smile, imagining.

"But then she got sick." He says. "She had lung cancer."

"Like me."

"She was already quite far in when they diagnosed her, so it wasn't long before she couldn't get enough oxygen in her lungs, either." He says, "Shocking really, how much oxygen is in the air. And yet, it's never available for the people that really deserve it."

I don't say anything.

"So she got sicker. And she promised me that she would be okay. She promised that, no matter what happened, she would always be there to help me with my homework. That no matter how sick she got, she would always be there to help me drive my little toy cars over every inch of the furniture. She was my best friend. I was ten.

"How can you tell a ten-year-old that his sister is going to die? How can you tell him that no matter how many promises she makes, she'll never be able to keep them? How can you tell him that those promises are just little motivations to get her through the day? I suppose it's cruel, really, that she'd tally the promises she made each day, determined to make more the next. I don't see it that way. I see it as her little gift to me. Her way of saying that nothing is easy in this world. That pain hides around every corner, lurks in every shadow."

"One day, I went to school. I drew her a picture of a rainbow with the words 'our little promise' written over them." He swallows. "I got home and she...she was gone."

I can't help it; I hold my breath, trying to fight the tears that threaten.

"She'd left me a note." He said, "It said: 'Promises are kept for infinity. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.'"

"You were just a boy." I don't know what I am trying to say.

"I was just ten. But I understood life. I understood happiness, and joy, laughter and sorrow. I understood, and Hazel Grace, I understood that that's the thing about pain," he says, "It demands to be felt."

I was kind of crying by then. "Gus."

"I changed then." He sighs. "I became conscious of the world around me. Of the people that shared it with me. I made this promise to Martha...and to myself...that I would try to help people like her. People that didn't have little brothers like me to keep them going, or a family that helped them, or support. Between the ages of ten and now – eighteen – I have helped fifty three terminally sick people. I tried to make them happier, to offer them company, kindness, to be their shining light in the darkness.

"Everything was alright." He says. "The pain never really went away but when I was helping others, it was sort of...dulled slightly, you know?

"Then you came along."

I can't speak. Can't even breathe through the tears that fall onto my cheeks. He doesn't look at me, and I don't want him to. He's told his story to the ocean, to the sea of tranquility, and I am just an eavesdropper.

"You reminded me of her." He says softly. "Of Martha. You even sort of look like her."

Against my instincts, I can't help but feel a little disappointed by that.

"But Hazel Grace, you are _nothing_ like her."

Now I don't know what to think.

"Martha was my best friend. She was happy and accepting, but she was also very selfish. She took a young boy down with her when she died and that's a very selfish crime to commit."

He sucks in a deep breath. "But you...you are kind and compassionate, empathetic and tranquil. But you're also selfless and stubborn. And you won't let your cancer be the best of you. You won't accept that you are the sacrifice made to cancer. You won't consent to be what dies so cancer can live. There's something very brave about that belief. A bravery Martha never had."

I can't listen to anymore. The tears flow and I reach for Augustus, folding myself in his embrace. I cry into his shirt and I can feel his hot tears splash onto my forehead. His lips follow, touching my hair line with a reverence that I never expected could come from someone like Augustus Waters.

"You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world," Augustus says, and I recognise his words, remembering them from the other night, at the barn dance. "But you do have some say in who hurts you. I choose you, Hazel Grace. I choose you not because you have the same disease as my dead sister, not because you're stubborn or selfless or determined or even slightly cruel. It's because, really, it would be a privilege to have my heart broken by you. You don't just dull the pain, you make it go away."

I lean back, almost desperate to look at his face. It's hidden in the shadow of darkness, the gleam of his tears on his face. His blue eyes shine, looking at me with such awe that I half-sob.

"Hazel Grace?"

"I just..." I duck my head into his shoulder, letting my nose press against his warm neck. "I'm just very, very fond of you. Okay?"

He smiles. "Okay."

He presses his lips against my forehead and we sit there, in comfortable silence, savouring each other's touch, each other's company, as the moon kisses the sea and the first rays of sunlight rise at our backs.

* * *

When we make our way back to college, it's still too early for other inhabitants to be awake. So Augustus comes back to my room and we lay next to each other in my bed. We talk about superficial stuff – why I love An Imperial Affliction so much, why he really loves playing The Price of Dawn, why we both chose English Lit to study. We don't talk about my cancer, or his sister, or even my unavoidable fate. We watch movies and lie together, my head on his arm, holding me close to him. It's everything I've ever wanted, but also, everything I've ever feared.

Someone knocks on my door. "Hazel?" A male calls. "Is Augustus in there? I've been looking for him everywhere."

Augustus groans. "Isaac, what's up?" He calls through the door. I just shout for him to come on in.

"Monica dumped me again."

"Aww, man, that sucks." Augustus says, and he sounds genuinely displeased. "What went wrong?"

"She said she needed space."

I snort. "To get with other guys."

Isaac's face flashes with hurt and I instantly regret my words. Augustus kind of shrugs. "She's got a point. Dude, you could do so much better than that."

"No, I can't." He says and I feel the oncoming avalanche of emotions moments before it hits. "No, I can't because she's the only one that pays me the slightest attention in this school. No, I can't, because no one else makes me feel as wanted as she does."

"She plays you like a fool." Augustus says but I think I see a measure of sympathy in his eyes.

"And about that attention thing," I interject. "_Not_ true. Monica bitched me out yesterday for hanging out with you. I could have just taken her advice and ignored you. But I didn't. Because I care about you."

He stares at me, uncomprehending. "She did?"

"Yup." I shrug.

Slowly, his rejection turns to anger, slow and dark and ugly. "That _bitch_. Why does she think she owns me? Why? Why does she feel like she can just step all over me...like a doormat?"

"Isaac." Augustus says, calmly. "You need to break something."

"I freely volunteer my hockey trophies as tribute."

Isaac shakes his head. "Nah, I'll feel super guilty afterwards." He grumbles.

"Well then, Hazel and I were just going to play The Price of Dawn. Join us?"

We were? "But we have class?"

"Nada. No can do." He says, shaking his head. "I've been up all night. Too tired for class."

I bite my lip, guiltily.

"_Hazel_ _Grace_, are you seriously considering choosing English Lit over The Price of Dawn?"

Isaac looks at me, eyebrows raised. "What is wrong with you, man?"

I can't help the smile that unfurls on my face. I only live once, right? And it's not like I've got long left. "Nothing. I'll come."

"I knew there was a shred of rationality in that perplexing mind of yours." Gus grins, leaping off the bed and I follow, more slowly, dragging my oxygen tank along with me.

* * *

Augustus' room is smaller than mine and fitting three people on his green, two-person love seat is no easy feat. However, we manage it, Augustus holding the controller as Isaac flicks the television on.

"I'm going to put voice recognition on."

"I have no idea what that means but okay."

Isaac just laughs.

The game starts and Augustus speaks. "Pause."

The game pauses. "It's working!" He sobers, "Set up game."

"Game set up:" The machine speaks back. "Speak, player one."

"That's me." Augustus says, rather cheerfully.

"Player identified. Speak, player two."

"That'll be me." Isaac growled good-naturedly. Augustus laughed. "Player identified."

"You do know you're going to have to growl for the entire game now." He warns him. "Otherwise the game won't recognise you."

"Speak, player three."

I wait for the third person to declare themselves but then realise that Augustus and Isaac are looking at me very strangely.

"What?"

The roll their eyes and sigh. "Player identified." The game speaks and comprehension dawns.

"Ohhhhhh." I blush, embarrassed. "Oops."

"You never struck me as a blonde, vapid girl, Hazel Grace." Augustus says, sombrely. I stick my tongue out at him.

"Play." Isaac sighs, exasperated. The game pings and the menu screen disappears.

"You awake mysteriously in a dark cave to the steady sound of dripping." The game says. "You notice that your friend, player three, is bleeding-"

"Oh, great." I say sarcastically. "Ironic."

"Player two can hear the sound of screaming." The game begins to scream eerily. I shiver.

"No one told me this game was going to be creepy." I say. Isaac snickers and Gus regards me mournfully.

"It's not _creepy_." Augustus says, as though I'd just told him pigs fly. "It's awesome."

"If you say so." I say, unconvinced.

Although, it turns out, he is right. The game is quite good. Better than classes would have been anyway. At some point, Augustus insists that they save the children on the other side of the map, but Isaac refuses on the grounds of: "We'd all freaking die if we cross the stretch of land to save the children! Are you suicidal or just stupid?" He turns to me, "Augustus always wants to save the children. He's a saving-the-world-type."

My eyes catch Gus and I see him smile sadly, the ghost of a memory crossing his face. "That he is." I agree.

At about two o'clock in the afternoon, five hours into the game, our characters get on a bus that moves us to another area of the map. Whilst in the bus, our conversation went something along the lines of this:

Gus: Drive faster.

Computer: Cannot complete order of 'drive faster.'

Isaac: It's a fixed speed, dude.

Computer: I do not understand what you mean by 'It's a fixed speed, dude.'

Me: Reload shotgun.

Computer: Shotgun reloaded. What would you like to do now?

Me: Shoot the computer.

Computer: There is no computer on board.

Gus: Well, how are you here?

Computer: I do not understand what you mean by 'Well, how are you here.'

Isaac: You don't understand a lot.

Computer: I'm sorry.

Gus: Shoot the windows.

Computer: Your character shoots the windows. He finds that the glass smashes easily.

Isaac: Well, a freaking bullet just went through them.

Computer: I do not understand-

Gus: Hump the gearstick.

Computer: I'm sorry. That action is unavailable. (Isaac: Dude, that would hurt.)

Gus: The gearstick thinks it's out of my league?

Computer: There are no leagues in The Price of Dawn.

Me: So he has a _reasonable_ chance with the gearstick.

Gus: Pause.

He turns to me, incredulous. "A _reasonable_ chance? I actually think my chances with the gearstick are quite high."

"Actually, I kind of agree. You both share the same traits; you're both felt up, you're both handled frequently and...you're both _knobs_."

Augustus stares at me, eyebrow raised.

Isaac laughs so hard he almost falls off the love seat. "Hazel, wow."

I smile proudly and, after a while, Augustus smirks at me, a secret, hidden smile that Isaac doesn't see. It makes me feel all fluffy inside, it makes me feel like I'm just a teenage girl.

In the end, Augustus is right, and we end up saving the children. But, much to Isaac's prediction, both Isaac's character and Augustus' character die, leaving me to complete the last hurdle. This puts me under quite a bit of pressure, as I have both the boys shouting commands at me, bellowing in despair when I take a shot to the arm which quickly turns into a roar of victory when I survive it, shoot the captor and free the kids.

"Hazel Grace, you are incredible at this game." Augustus slides his hand around my neck, his fingers playing with my cannula and kisses my forehead victoriously. "Truly a natural."

I curtsy, laughing.

* * *

We spend the rest of the day in Augustus' room, playing The Price of Dawn and other bloody games which I forget the names of. When it reaches six o'clock, the three of us wander down to the nearest fast food joint and pick up some food, and then we head back to our dorms.

Augustus stays in mine.

We lay in my bed, next to each other, barely touching as the rubbish of our fast food meal litters across my bedroom floor. I smile at the sight of it.

"Your oxygen machine sounds are quite therapeutic." Gus says, and he is full on staring at me, even as I try and fall asleep.

Eventually, I sigh. "Why are you staring at me?"

"Because you are beautiful." He whispers. "I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence."

I smile, relishing the compliment, relishing the sound of his voice, raising the goosebumps on my arms. I turn to face him, and we're inches apart. I stare into his blue eyes, committing them to memory.

"Aren't you tired?"

"I don't sleep easily." I admit.

"What would make it easier?"

I hesitate. But then I realise that life is not about hesitations. It's about jumping even though you can't see where you'll land. "Will you read to me?"

He doesn't laugh, or tell me I'm being ridiculous. Instead, he picks up An Imperial Affliction from my bedside unit, leaning over me to do so. I can smell him. He smells like...him. He's masculine and simple and..._Augustus_.

He opens the book, turns to the turned down page and begins to read.

I relax at the sound of his voice, letting it weave its way around me until I feel my eyelids growing heavy.

Despite being half-conscious, I am still acutely aware of Augustus Waters' body next to mine, warm and inviting. I feel every nerve awaken when his hand skims my arm, his fingers swirling patterns on my skin. It sends chills down my spine...but calms me, also.

And as he read, I fell in love the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once.

* * *

**Please review and tell me what you think! :D Thank you!**


	7. Perfect Faults

**UPDATE yay! So I didn't think I would be able to update today because I have a mock exam but meh, I gave up on revision. Oops. So here we are! A new chapter! Slightly shorter but more stuff's coming! Thank you for your awesomeness! Please review! **

"**Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life."**

* * *

_Augustus Waters_

You don't get tired of looking at Hazel Grace. She is beautiful, awake, and in sleep. As I stare at her now, I try to analyse the emotions inside me, but it's impossible. You can't overthink emotions. They're either there, or they're not.

I curl my fingers in her open hand, but I don't touch her anywhere else. I don't want to wake her. She looks so peaceful, sleeping. A lump forms in my throat. Will she look like this when she is in her coffin, ready to be buried?

If I involve myself with Hazel Grace, how badly will I be burned? She's a roaring blaze, flickering in the darkness, but soon she'll be but a glowing ember, a flame extinguished, the smoke the only evidence that she'd ever been alive. Her only mark. Can I bear that pain again, knowing the agony I've felt for all these years? Can I let her be another Martha?

But she is not. Martha was obsessed with leaving a mark upon this world. Outlasting death. She wanted to be the one person who could be a victorious over mortality. One of many that wished alike. They will learn the hard way that apparently, the world is not a wish-granting factory.

Hazel is different. She walks lightly. She walks lightly upon this earth. She knows the truth. That we are as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we're not likely to do either.

Sleeping soundly, her fingers curl around mine. I smile slightly, observing the chipped navy blue polish of her nails. I can hear the rattle of the oxygen machine as it feeds her Life's Sustenance. It's sadistically funny, really, how humans have the ability to build a machine that provides oxygen but they don't have the ability to create lung tissue or even prosthetic organs. Perhaps it's because our race are so stuck with the idea of the impossible that they never even try to consider the alternative. Perhaps it's because we are so busy spending money on flashy cars and massive homes that we do not stop to think of other purposes in life.

People will say it's sad that she will leave a lesser scar, that fewer remember her, that she was loved deeply but not widely. But it's not sad. Not really.

It's triumphant. Heroic.

You can't get enough of being around people like that. People who accept that they are never going to be a flash in the universe, a change of time, a difference. Hazel burns steadily, though her life will soon be inevitably doused. It's worth the pain to be with her. It's worth the aftermath of agony to know that I've spent every last minute by her side.

I don't know how or why Hazel Grace has gotten so deeply under my skin. In literal terms, I've barely known her. Figuratively? I feel like I've known her forever. Or perhaps I'm in too deep that I have forgotten that I haven't.

Either way, I know that, until her last day – or even beyond, I'll always be there to respond to her 'Okay.' I'll be her mark. I'll be her scar. For our little infinity.

* * *

_Hazel Grace Lancaster_

When I wake, I find myself curled into his chest, his arms around my shoulder and waist like a cocoon. His scent washes over me, clean and masculine. He doesn't wear cologne. He doesn't hide behind a veil of artificiality.

My oxygen tubing runs over my left shoulder and his index finger is curled around it, almost protectively. Like he was afraid of it falling out. He sleeps soundly, his chest moving steadily, deeply. His face is pressed into my hair and I'm suddenly grateful I washed it the day before. My head pounds, but I'm too content to care. I fiddle with the cotton of his plain t-shirt, allowing myself to relax in the first shred of peaceful tranquillity I've felt in years.

I don't know what Augustus is to me. And I don't know what I am to him. He hasn't kissed me, or told me he likes me. I'm afraid to tell him how I feel. Coming from a girl with cancer, it's quite a profound declaration. I am in love with him, completely, and utterly. Perhaps it's not real love. Perhaps it's my subconscious latching onto the first person that shows me friendship, acceptance. Perhaps it attaches to that which is full of life, because I am so full of death.

But then I hear him moan in his sleep, pained and discontent. My heart wrenches and I know that, if this isn't real love, if this _happiness_ _isn't real love_, then I don't want it. I'd gladly surround myself in pretend love if it makes me feel like this.

Augustus shifts, restless, another moan escaping his lips. He jostles me slightly, pulling me closer so that my head rests on his chest, just under his chin. He lets out a breath, relaxing, and my muscles unwind as he falls back to sleep.

I lie there for a long time. I think. Too much. I almost over-think. I think over-thinking is a side effect of depression. But then depression is said to be a side effect of cancer. I don't think so. I think depression is a side effect of _dying_. But then, that thought is very depressing, and I'd need an objective person to verify it.

Suddenly, I have to get up. I can't lie here and think about depressive things when I am at the most happiest I have ever been. It's too...wrong.

I unravel myself from Augustus, being careful not to wake him, and I attach my oxygen tubing up to my tank. I pull on a dressing gown, checking the time to ensure that it _is_ actually socially acceptable to wear a dressing gown at this hour. Then I realise I don't care, because what is the point in societal pressures?

* * *

I pad on down to the shared kitchen. It's used by every person on this corridor so I'm not surprised to find people already there, eating and talking. I spot Kaitlyn sat with Isaac, eating eggs and soldiers. Isaac munches on a cereal bar, distracted, even as Kaitlyn is talking to him. Uneasily, I spot Monica, dressed in skimpy pyjamas, flirting with two guys near her. Monica and Isaac avoid each other's eyes, but it's easy to spot the tension.

I make my way over to the hob and put a frying pan on the ring. I heat some oil whilst I whip up a batter mix. My stomach rumbles painfully, and I want nothing more than pancakes.

Kaitlyn gets bored of Isaac not-listening to her and wanders over to me.

"You have a good sleep?"

"Uh..." I nod, turning away so she can't see my blush. Unfortunately, she is more perceptive than I give her credit for.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster." She gasps and I whip around to shut her up.

"Ssh!" I whisper, glancing pointedly at the other people in the kitchen. "It's not what you think."

"You had _fun_ last night."

"Not the fun you're thinking of."

"_Augustus Waters?"_ She mouths, glee in her eyes. I nod. "He came back to yours?"

When I nod again, she slaps a hand to her mouth. "Internal squealing."

"Keep it internal." I say, turning back to pour some mix into the pan. "We didn't even do anything."

"What did you do?"

I sigh. "He read to me." I blush, realising how stupid it sounds.

Kaitlyn, apparently doesn't think so. "You managed to get Augustus Waters to _read_ to you? Augustus freaking-hot-as-hell Waters?"

"He is not inhuman, you know." I say. "He does do normal things...like _read_."

"Yeah, but he's not really the cute type." Kaitlyn leans against the counter, dipping her finger into the mix. I make a face and she shrugs, innocently. "I mean, he's super cocky. I can't see him being romantic and cute."

"I don't think we know the same Augustus Waters." I say, cheekily. I can't help but feel giddy at her obvious envy. I never expected to be the person any hot guy would spend time with. But I am. And I can't help but feel slightly satisfied by it.

"Does he let his guard down when he's around you?" She says, a dreamy look passing over her face. "Like the hot ones do in the movies?"

I refuse to admit to that. "Don't get me wrong, he's still an arrogant, conceited asshole." I say. "But that's forgivable."

"Hazel, you are _killing_ me here!"

"I hope we're talking figuratively-speaking." A new voice says. "Because it is _too_ early for me to perform CPR."

He strolls in, his t-shirt rumpled, his hair tousled with sleep. His blue eyes are alight with his usual cocky humour, his smirk lop-sided slightly.

"You could perform it on Hazel." Kaitlyn says and I nudge her hard, flames licking at my face.

Augustus doesn't respond, but his eyes find mine instantly.

"Hazel Grace." He says, his tone measured. "Okay?"

I nod, my lips twitching into a smile. "Okay."

He grins now, a full-fledged smile across his face. He saunters up to me, trapping me between the counter and his body. He reaches around me and takes the pan off the ring.

"Hey!" I say, mock-annoyed.

"The pancake is sticking." He says innocently. "I could smell it from your room."

He stills, realising what he has said.

I lift my eyebrows up as if to say:_ You slipped up._

I don't know why, but I think of this as a game. Who can keep this..._thing_...we have a secret the longest. Kaitlyn thinks she knows, but she doesn't know the whole of it – she only suspects. Perhaps we can keep our connection private, away from the other housemates.

He smirks in response to my stare and retrieves a knife from the drawer. He prods at the pancake, peeling it back from the pan. It's _not_ burnt, only slightly golden, but he smirks as if to say 'I told you so' anyway.

Then, without warning, he flips it.

I lunge away, covering my head as hot oil rains down on us. Kaitlyn shouts in pain as a couple of drops hit her, but I mercifully manage to avoid them all. When I look up, Augustus is laughing, a full blown cackle. I scowl at him.

"You could have seriously hurt us!" I say.

"Hazel Grace," He responds, almost sombre. "I think you put too much oil in the pan."

* * *

We spend the rest of breakfast flipping pancakes. Kaitlyn storms off to change her clothes – her white top was littered with oil splatters. Augustus insists I'm doing it wrong just because my pancake refuses to fully flip 180° and ends up folding in on itself.

"I may like it like that." I protest, pulling the pan away from him. He grins, raising an eyebrow.

"If you do, there is something seriously wrong with you."

"Not everyone has the _need_ to have everything perfect."

"I do not have that need." He objects, adopting a superior tone. "That would be impractical. The world is not perfect, else you wouldn't have cancer, I'd still have a sister, and there'd be no wars."

"Why is 'no wars' last on your priority list?" I scorn. "If _you_ were perfect, you'd have it first."

"I never claimed perfection, Hazel Grace." He says quietly. "And 'no wars' is last on my priority list because you are first."

That shuts me up. I blush and hand him the pan. He grins victoriously and takes it.

"If only I'd known earlier that the way to a woman is through compliments."

"Shut up." I say. "You know that's not true."

He simply smiles, flashing perfectly white teeth.

* * *

In class, we've moved on to another book. The teacher set it as a reading assignment on the lessons Augustus and I skipped so we have no clue what is going on seventy percent of the time.

It's not long – forty five seconds to be exact – before Augustus pokes me in the spine with the pen.

I lean my chair back, asking, "Do you have any idea what is happening, right now?"

"Well, you are currently leaning back, talking to me, because I just poked you with the pen. The girl over there is staring at us with a mixture of what looks like envy and hatred. That boy is staring with a look of revulsion on his face – honestly, do I look that disgusting? There's a spider on the wall over there, and it's crawling towards that girl that seems completely oblivious to it. I remember the last time she faced down a spider. There was a lot of violence and self-inflicted pain involved. What else? The teacher is currently walking towards us with a look of disapproval on her face...and 3...2...1..."

"Augustus, Hazel, are you doing the work I've set you?"

"No." Augustus says, simply. "I was actually explaining as many things that are literally happening right now to Hazel Grace in the time it took for you to spot us talking and walk over."

The teacher doesn't grace his words with a response. She just tuts and walks away.

"Isn't she bothered that we aren't doing anything?" I ask him.

"The art of college students: sleep all day and work all night."

I laugh but turn back around. I do need to get something on paper, even if it doesn't make any sense. I lean forward, attempting to overhear the boy's conversation with the teacher for ideas. I manage to scribble down two before Gus pokes me again.

"You know, I'm pretty sure I have a permanent bruise from how often you've poked me with that pen. It _is_ relatively sharp."

He has the grace to look mildly sorry. "Are you busy tonight?"

"I haven't really gotten much sleep the last two nights." I say, guiltily. "I really ought to stay in."

"Grand." Augustus smiles and I frown, confused. When he doesn't elaborate, I turn back around, shaking my head.

When the teacher's back is turned, a note flies over my head and hits the leg of the desk in front. The boy sitting at it bends to pick it up.

"I wouldn't unfold that, if I were you." Augustus pokes his head out, talking around me. He speaks with a serious face, but I can almost hear the silent laughter. "High chance of psychological damage. Honestly. You're just better giving it to Hazel Grace. She can handle it better than you can."

The boy actually looks frightened. He drops the note on my desk like it's on fire and turns around. I crack into laughter, unable to control myself.

"Hazel, could you please leave the room to calm yourself?" The teacher asks, annoyed. I get up, sling my bag over my shoulder, kick back my oxygen tank and swipe the note off the desk, walking out the door.

I loiter in the corridor, still chuckling slightly, even as I unfold the note. I compose myself before reading it.

On it is a crude drawing of a girl with an oxygen tank. She's speaking – by the looks of the speech bubble – and it says: "I really really _really_ want to hang out with Augustus Waters tonight because I only have x amount of days before I kick the bucket and he promised to make those days worthwhile. There's even a good chance it'll be romantic. Oooh."

Scrawled at the bottom of the note, Gus has written: _Meet me at...like...eleven-ish. Bring food._

Ever the romantic.

I burst into a fresh wave of laughter, pocketing the note. It is so unlike Gus that it's comical. I walk down the corridor towards my room. I don't think I'll be able to go back to class now. I don't think I could look at Augustus without dissolving into fresh tears of mirth.

Maybe it's for the best. It serves as a build-up of anticipation.

I wonder, idly, where we'll be going tonight.

* * *

**Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it! Please re****view :D**


	8. Peaceful Lucidity

**Another difficult chapter to write. *wipes sweat* Phew! This is a scene that I actually dreamt about. I found it so touching! Anyway, enjoy! More updates soon! Please review!**

"**I believe the universe wants to be noticed."**

* * *

"Where are you going?" Kaitlyn asks me, a bottle of unnamed booze in her hand. She lounges against a wall, a boy sat at her feet, his knees drawn up, muttering to himself. I'd say he's crazy, but I think he's just high.

"Out." I say.

"Good." She says, pushing herself upright. "I'm bored. I can come with you."

I backpedal, irritation shooting through me. Why is it so hard to leave the dormitory on a Friday night? The corridor is busy, music blaring through the walls. Every so often, someone trips and falls and then they just lay there, too drunk or high to move. The stench of cigarette smoke is strong, despite the 'No smoking' sign on the wall. My chest aches.

"No. No, I'm going to my parents'." I say. "They don't want a drunk, teenage girl turning up on their doorstep."

"I am not drunk." She slurs, waving her bottle at me. "This is my first drink."

"If there's even an ounce of truth in those words, it's been spiked." I tell her, pushing open the door. "See you tomorrow, Kaitlyn. Alive."

"I'm as alive as you'll get, baby!"

"You're alive...but you're killing yourself." I say, pointedly staring at the cigarette hanging from her fingers, burning softly. At my indication, she takes a draught, exhaling the smoke in my face, smirking cockily.

"Well, _that_ was insensitive." I say neutrally. But I don't stay to hear a response. Instead, I push open the door and leave, inhaling the clean, cigarette-free air of the courtyard. I drag my oxygen tank along, feeling the vibrations run up the handle as it bumps over the grass.

The sky is a luxurious navy, the full moon shining like a beacon in the darkness. There aren't many stars visible, and there are few dark clouds loitering dangerously, but to me, it's the most beautiful night's sky I've seen in a while.

I'm not quite sure where I am supposed to meet Augustus, so I wait underneath the canopy of a tree, silent and listening. For a typical party night, the courtyard is almost empty. Across the way, two friends gossip with each other, flipping their hair frequently. I can't help my leer. Vapid Girls. Sheesh.

"Hazel Grace." I jump as Augustus drops from the branch of the tree, landing beside me. "You came."

He looks genuinely pleased, an authentic smile stretching across his face. In the darkness, his blue eyes are shadowed, but his kind light shines.

I reach over to him, flattening a stray piece of his mahogany hair. "Why were you in a tree?" I ask him. "You scared me to _death_."

He doesn't smile. "The death joke. Not funny."

"You didn't seem to mind when you were writing them on my note."

He grimaces, conceding. "Point."

We start to walk, keeping to the trees as we make our way to the college gates. Again, I ask, "What were you doing in a tree?"

"I sit there sometimes when I want to be alone." He replies quietly. "No one ever comes to the trees – they sit in the sun or on the benches."

"So no one knows you're there?" I ask, incredulous. "_Ever?"_

He casts me a sly grin. "Makes for good people-watching."

I shake my head despairingly, sighing. After a comfortable stretch of silence I ask, "Where are we going, tonight?"

"I just want to show you something."

"You said that last time, and dragged me up a cliff."

"I dragged you." He exaggerates his nod, smirking. "Kicking and screaming."

"Kicking and screaming." I confirm, tensing as he puts a cigarette between his lips. He doesn't light it, so I relax. "It was beautiful, though." I say, my voice soft.

"See?" He shrugs. "The theme is: I take you somewhere and you like it. So why are you worried now? Don't you trust me?"

"I'm not worried." I say, and it's the truth. "I trust you with my life."

"I wouldn't do _that_, Hazel Grace." He responds, chuckling darkly. "I'm good, but not _that_ good. I can't save you from your inevitable death."

"No one can save anyone from an inevitable death." I whisper. "We're _all_ dying, Gus."

He stops, gaping at me. "You're right." He says, walking again. "I never really thought of it like that."

"Does it make you feel any better about life?"

"What are you, my therapist?" When I don't say anything, he continues, "Not really. I don't know what happens at the very beginning or the very end but currently, I'm in the middle, and I'm going to enjoy that. It doesn't change anything."

"You still fear oblivion."

"I'll always fear oblivion." He says, a shadow crossing his face. "Especially when I'm around you."

I don't ask why. I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.

* * *

I don't know where we're going until we're almost there. The gates loom ahead and, if I wasn't with Augustus, I'd be fearful. But he's here, with me, and even though we're not touching, I can feel his reassurance, cocooning me, making me feel safe.

The black gates claim "Adrenaline City", the dark frames of the theme-park rides materialising beyond it, the light layer of fog lifting slightly as we approach.

"_Augustus_," I whisper. "Are we supposed to be here?"

"Nope." He shakes his head. "But I know a way to get inside."

"Inside- _Are you crazy_?" I snap. "What, do you have some terror fetish? Like...are you an adrenaline junkie or something? Is there some mental disorder I should know about?"

"Relax, Hazel Grace." He breathes, nudging me slightly. "We are perfectly safe. See, there's no one around."

"The last thing we are is safe."

He grins, gripping onto the gate bars. "What are you afraid of? _Ghosts?"_

"I don't want to be locked up in a jail cell for the rest of my dead short life!" I hiss.

"Again with the death jokes, Hazel." He shakes his head mournfully. "I thought you had a better sense of humour than that."

I open my mouth to snap a retort but before words can escape my lips, he jumps, legs crossing around the gate bars as he pulls his way up the ten-foot gate. I shout for him to come down but he simply flashes his teeth, pulls his leg over the metal barrier and drops down to the other side.

"Augustus!" I gasp, breathless. My heart pounds a million miles an hour, my chest aching, my breathing shallow and quick. "Come back here!"

"Live a little, Hazel Grace." He says, touching my cheek through the bars. "It's okay, you know."

I grit my teeth. "What if we get caught?"

"We won't." He says. "I've been coming here for months and no one has found me."

I cross my arms defiantly, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, well, in that case, I'll just come right on over...How-the-freaking-hell-do-you-expect-me-to-get-over-that-gate?"

He laughs, throwing his head back as his shoulders shake. I love his laugh and, despite how annoyed I am, I can't help but feel it relaxes me.

He moves away for a minute, and for a moment I think he has left me alone, but then the gates start to open and I jump, the sound of screeching metal piercing the silence. It is so loud that I wonder how the whole neighbourhood isn't awake.

Augustus suddenly appears, and he pulls me through the opening before disappearing again. A moment later and the gates screech to a halt and then start to close.

"Hazel Grace!" Augustus calls, glee obvious in his tone. "Come here a moment."

I follow the sound of his voice to a small booth. The door is open and Augustus sits inside, swivelling on the stool. "Look." He says, when he sees me. He points to a big red button. It has a key inside it.

"The key-holder always keeps a key for the gates in here." He says. "He's a forgetful bastard. He had the key copied so if he lost his one, he'd always have a spare. I'm sorry I left you, by the way. I had to close the gates. They make a lot of noise."

"I hadn't noticed." I say, innocently. His lips twitch in response, his eyes sparkling mischievously.

"Come on," He says, standing up. He's so tall that he almost hits the ceiling of the booth. He completely dwarfs me in comparison. "I wanted to show you something."

* * *

We end up before a rollercoaster. I swallow the nervousness that builds in my throat. The rollercoaster is evidently meant for younger riders but in the dark of the night, there's a mysterious, creepy element to it. Gus places a hand on the waist-high barrier and vaults over. He lands on the other side, seamlessly. The whole thing is hot, I have to admit, but I can't shake the feeling that we're doing something awful.

"Look at this." He says, crouching down at the cart on the tracks. "There's an emergency brake."

"Augustus..." I say warningly, not liking where this conversation is leading.

He looks at me. "Relax." He smiles. "I'm just saying so that you'll feel safe enough to get in with me."

"What?"

"Time to prove that trust of yours." He winks at me and then swings himself in the seat, patting the one beside his. I take a dubious step forward and his smirk widens into a genuine, encouraging smile. "Come on."

I take a deep breath and then step into the seat beside his. There's just enough room for my oxygen tank, my leg pressed against his. He chuckles and then pulls the emergency brake.

"Gus!" I scream as our cart loosens, rolling on the track. He sticks his hand out, grabs onto the frame of the rollercoaster and uses it to pull us along. I scream again. "Augustus Waters! _Stop it!_ You're a psychopath!"

"Hazel Grace," He says, gripping onto another pole to wrench us along. "Am I causing you pain?"

"You're causing me psychological harm." I say, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Well, that's technically not pain so I'm not going to stop." When I moan, he chuckles. "It's a _kid's_ rollercoaster."

"It's not freaking safe." I growl.

"It is." He says. "We're going slower than an old granny on a mobility scooter and we have a fully functional emergency brake. Do you really think I'm going to let something happen to you?"

"Is it not enough that I'm dying already? You want to kill me _now_?"

"Hazel Grace Lancaster, that is not funny." He says, pulling the cart again. The muscles in his arm tense as he does so, and I swallow the lump in my throat. We're near the top of the frame now, and I can see most of the park. Shadows lurk beneath the frames of the park rides but the fear I felt then is nothing compared to the fear I feel now.

"Augustus-" I say softly.

"It's fine." He says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. Slowly, he moves down to pull the emergency brake. "I'm done. I'm not going to pull us any further. This is what I wanted to show you."

"The park?"

"No." He tilts my chin up, pointing in the distance. "The world."

"I can't see it."

"There's no place in the universe that you'll ever be able to see the whole world. You can only see faces from different angles." He clears his throat. "That's the way I see people. There is no one on this world who will ever know you, Hazel Grace. They will only know the _you_ you choose to show them."

"What do I show you?" I dare to ask, admiring the scene before me. Beyond the abandoned, ethereal theme park, fields of grass roll into the distance, framed by imposing, thick trees, the canopy of leaves hanging over the empty roads. The moonlight shines down on it all, making it appear like a painting, or a scene from a movie. I can't help the awed smile that turns up my lips.

"You show me many things." Augustus answers, and I know his eyes are on me, even as mine are on nature. "I've never met another person that has taught me more than you."

"Not even Martha?" I ask, pleasure shooting through me.

He sucks in a breath and I know that my words are insensitive – harsh, even. I close my eyes, turning away from him. "You don't have to answer that." I say.

At first, I think he is angry, but then his hand touches the back of my neck and I turn back towards him to see that his eyes are surprisingly soft, vulnerable. His voice cracks slightly when he speaks. "Not even Martha."

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding, thrilled by his words. We say nothing for a while and I snuggle into him as his arm drapes over my shoulders, his head on top of mine. We are both in awe of the natural beauty of the world, stretched out before us, and suddenly I'm overly aware of how little time I have left with it. A sense of great hopelessness settles over me, weighing on my shoulders and, where I used to be accepting of death, I am now wishing I will never go. I know that it is inevitable. That death's scythe hangs over my neck. But all of a sudden I want longer. I don't want to go swiftly into that good night. I want my moment with the world, with nature, with the boy sitting next to me. I don't want to leave a mark, or a scar, but I want something that death will never give. _Time._

"What do you do when you come here alone?"

He doesn't respond and after a while, I think he has not heard me. But then, he speaks, "I climb the Ferris wheel and watch the sunrise. There's something beautiful about the start of a new day. It's the start of a new life, in a way. _Tomorrow is what you change today."_

"Who said that?"

"Me." He smiles gently only an ember of humour burning within his eyes. I know he feels the same melancholy emotion that courses through me. Whether it's for the same reasons, I don't know. But he's not happy. Not content with the life he has.

"Do you wish you had Martha back?"

He shakes his head almost immediately. "Not at the cost of what I have learned."

I pull back, surprised.

"I don't mean to be selfish, though God knows that's what I am." He says, running a hand through his dark hair. "If Martha hadn't died, I wouldn't have helped all those other cancer fighters. If Martha hadn't died, I would be this cocky basketball player in the states. If Martha hadn't died, I wouldn't have had the courage to approach you, to talk to you. I'd have been like the rest of them – I'd have pretended you don't exist."

I don't know what to say.

"Martha's death made me who I am. And I know, for a fact, that if she had the choice - between the old me or the new me...she wouldn't want me to go back to who I was. Even if it meant she could have her life back.

"And Hazel Grace, meeting you has been the highlight of my last seventeen years. In the short time I have known you, you have taught me what it is to be human. To have empathy, compassion. You have taught me that the shortness and abruptness of life is never an excuse to not live. You have taught me that it is better to become cancer than to let cancer become of you. I respect you for that. I respect you for what you have taught me, because you have taught me more than society, my parents and teachers combined ever could."

I half-smile, a sense of peace floating over me. "I am in love with you. I am in love with you and that's not going to change with my death, or with my life." I don't look at him. I can't bear to see the pain on his face. "Okay?"

He exhales, resting his head on top of mine. His lips touch my hairline and I inhale his scent, wishing I didn't have my cannula blocking my nose. I need to _remember_ him. I need to know what he smells like, what he feels like, sounds like, looks like, when I am gone. I need to commit him to my memory because if I die and I forget him, I will never be half of what I am now. Whatever comes after death seems a frightful concept without Augustus Waters by my side.

After a long while, he finally says it. Finally says what I've been waiting for. "Okay."

The cart's descent does not scare me. The descent, compared to the climb, is easy. You just have to let go.

Life's about jumping, even though you can't see where you'll land. The descent is a little bit like that.

* * *

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	9. Distorted Thoughts

**Hey guys, update time! This chapter is quite troublesome and may be slightly upsetting to very sensitive people. Just a warning! Without further ado...**

"**I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of people I loved."**

* * *

The next few weeks drag by. I don't see Gus much – we're both too caught up with mid-term exams and reading assignments. The poking of the pen in my spine lessens to once or twice a class and Augustus doesn't invite me out on anymore 'trips'.

Honestly, it's the most glum few weeks of my life.

I hadn't noticed how depressed I had been before I met Gus. I'd been unhappy, desolate and...angry. I was angry at the world and all that it had deprived of me. I was angry at my situation, at my ill-fated future. I was so depressed that I was accepting of a death I didn't deserve.

When I am around Augustus, I feel different. I feel special...alive. I feel like I am more than just a meaningless pawn on a chess board. I am the queen. I can go anywhere, be anyone. With Augustus, I am more than just Hazel, the girl with cancer. I am Hazel Grace Lancaster, the girl with new-found excitement and adrenaline. I don't hate the world anymore. Not now that I have seen how beautiful it can be. I am finally experiencing what it is to live. I dread my inevitable death, dread the time when I have to leave Augustus Waters alone. Sometimes it's healthy to feel that kind of trepidation. It reminds you that we are not owed minutes, hours, years. We do not have a right to time. In fact, we borrow it. And some day, we have to give it back.

"Do you fear death?" Kaitlyn asks me, her words uncanny to my own thoughts.

"Yes." I say. "I didn't, but now I do."

"Oh." She files her nails distractedly. "I thought that...having cancer and all...you wouldn't be afraid."

"I'm terrified." I respond, flicking through the pages of An Imperial Affliction. "Cancer doesn't take that fear away. _Depression_ takes that fear away. The desire to live is innate, Kaitlyn. Unless you have a distorted mind, warped thoughts, you want to live. You want to carry on to see the next day."

She stays quiet, pondering my words. Eventually, she says, "It must be weird, knowing you might not wake up one day."

I shrug. "I take each day how it comes."

"But you're afraid."

I think of Augustus, who is scared of oblivion. Part of me is frightened of it too. The fear of nothingness is a sub-conscious fear, built within us. Gus is just smart enough to realise that.

Kaitlyn changes the subject, a smile on her face. "We're going to a club tonight."

I groan. "In the middle of exam season? _Really?"_

"Hazel!" She moans, dragging my name out in a whine. "You must have fun, girl! Catch a break!"

"What, you want _me_ to come?" I say dubiously.

She nods slowly, as though she is talking to a dim-witted child. "I wouldn't mention it if I didn't want you to come."

"I don't know." I say, unsure. "I mean...I can't dance much."

"Sure you can!"

"No, Kaitlyn." I say, and now it is my turn to adopt a patronising tone. "While my lungs suck at being lungs, I can't dance."

"I saw you dancing with Augustus at the barn dance."

"That was different." I lie. "Besides, club dancing is a little bit different to barn dancing."

She sulks. "But come anyway? Lover boy might be coming if Monica can persuade Isaac to come."

I blush. "Augustus is not 'lover boy'." I growl, embarrassed. "Anyway, I didn't know Monica and Isaac were back together."

"They're not." She says nonchalantly. "I think she slept with him the other night but they're not officially 'back on.'" She uses finger quotations to emphasise. "Isaac has a real soft spot for her. Why can't I find a guy like that? She has Isaac, you have Augustus."

"Okay," I hold up a finger, "First of all, Monica does not _have_ Isaac – he's his own person and I'm pretty sure he's pissed at her so the rumours about them sleeping together recently are unlikely to be true. Second of all, I do not _have_ Augustus – I...don't even know what we have."

She pouts slightly. "So...no sex yet?"

My cheeks redden further. "Kaitlyn!" My voice sounds like someone is choking me. "What, no!"

She stares at me. I look away, feeling as though someone has just dropped a boulder in my stomach.

"You haven't even kissed him yet, have you?" She gasps, leaning back on her elbows to gawp at me. "No freaking way."

"Kaitlyn." I moan, holding my hands up to my cheeks. "I am not having this conversation with you, right now."

"I can't believe it." She says, shaking her head. "How have you not lost every scrap of self-restraint and mauled him already?"

I just gape at her.

"Come on, Hazel!" She whines. "Even you aren't as blind as this! _He's hot!_ So hot-"

"He's beautiful." I agree quietly.

"And he's not always going to be yours." She points out. "Why don't you take advantage of him while you still can?"

I look away. "I don't think...we're like that."

"What, you don't think he's interested in you sexually?"

I think I must resemble a tomato by now. "How can he be?" I say glumly. "I think he cares about me. I _know_ he cares about me. But I don't think he feels the same way I do about him. How can someone like me even compare to someone like him anyway?"

"Hazel Grace Lancaster!" She shouts. "I can't actually believe you just said that."

"It's true."

"No way." She shakes her head, her black locks shimmering as she does so. "Uh-uh. I _refuse_ to accept that."

"Kaitlyn, listen to me." I sit up straight, determined to make her see my point of view. "You believe Augustus is sexually interested in me. But that's because you're beautiful and you have never known a guy that would say no to you. You think boys act like that for every girl. They don't, okay? I am skinny and scrawny with freckles and a pageboy haircut. I wear what I feel comfortable in, regardless of how attractive I look. I don't have a large chest, or curves and it's pretty difficult to see any beauty in my face when there's a cannula lodged in my nose.

"Don't get me wrong, I don't resent you. I really don't. I am used to having every single person around me one thousand percent more eye-catching than me. And that's exactly it! How can Augustus be attracted to me when I live next door to someone like you? How can he view me as beautiful when no one else in this college has an oxygen tube stuck up their nose? _I have baggage,_ Kaitlyn. And Gus isn't going to forget that."

She is quiet for a minute, processing my words. I am slightly out of breath. I didn't take a full breath once during my little speech and now my chest aches slightly. I concentrate on sucking air into my lungs while Kaitlyn thinks of something to say.

"You're under the assumption that Gus is vapid and shallow and small-minded." She murmurs eventually.

I sigh. "What?"

"You think that he will judge you solely on your physical features. And no offence, but you haven't really got much going for you in that department." She waves towards my oxygen tank. "But Hazel, Gus doesn't see what's on the outside. He sees what's inside. That's why you know every single important thing about him and I only know the rumours."

I frown. "I don't understand."

"Of course you don't." She exhales. "I tried to hook up with Gus once."

My eyebrows shoot up and shock bolts through me. "You did?"

"Sure." She shrugs it off. "But he wasn't interested. He told me I was too insipid for him, too uninspiring. At first, I thought he was just being cruel. But now I realise he was being truthful. Compared to you, I am insipid. I am uninspiring. I literally don't have any character."

"Figuratively." I correct and she rolls her eyes.

"Hazel, he sees in you what I've always wanted to be. He sees your strength, your determination, your ridiculous view of the world. He sees your innocence, your naivety, tainted by death but not conquered by it. He _is_ attracted to you. He's attracted to your bizarre but fantastic personality. Your essence. Don't doubt yourself. Don't doubt your charm, girl." She touches my cheek, smiling sadly. "I would literally kill to be half the person you are."

"I don't think you understand the meaning of 'literally', Kaitlyn."

She laughs and shrugs. "Maybe not."

I busy myself with opening up an online dictionary on my laptop so that she doesn't see my tears of happiness. I have never had a friend like Kaitlyn before. Having her by my side is refreshing. It makes me feel normal.

My phone rings and I pick it up, shoving Kaitlyn the laptop. She sees the dictionary, and the definition of 'literally', rolls her eyes and pushes the computer away. I smirk.

"Hello?"

"Hazel, honey," My mum's voice sounds through the phone and I bite my lip guiltily. Over the last four weeks of college, I haven't really bothered with my parents. It makes me feel awful because they have dedicated their lives to bothering with me when I bother them. It's a whole mess of bothering. "I wasn't sure if I was going to hear from you this side of the summer solstice."

"Mum, it's February."

"Exactly, sweetheart." She says sadly. "I haven't spoken to you properly since the beginning of the year. You only text us to tell us your okay every couple of days and that's as much as our mother-daughter relationship has deteriorated. Your father is so distraught. He thinks you don't need us anymore."

Kaitlyn gives me a confused look and I block the microphone on the phone to tell her, "My dad cries a _lot_."

She shrugs and pulls the laptop back towards her. She logs into a social networking site and trawls through her news feed.

"Of course I need you." I say truthfully. "I wouldn't be where I am if it weren't for you. I'd be six feet under."

Kaitlyn chokes a little and shoots me an alarmed glance.

"Hazel, I really don't appreciate that kind of humour, alright?"

"Sorry, mum." I smirk, thinking of Augustus and his similar words. Why aren't my death jokes welcome around here?

"So, how are things? Made any new friends? How are your lessons? Any cute boys?"

"Remember that girl you scared off when we first arrived? Miraculously, we're still talking."

"Your parents did _not_ scare me." Kaitlyn protests before returning back to the computer.

I ignore her. "My lessons are great. We're in the middle of mid-term exam season actually, which might have something to do with why I haven't been able to communicate with you much."

"Oh, honey, I didn't mean to make you feel conflicted. You focus on your learning. Don't worry about us too much."

"I am focusing." I say. "But I do worry. How is the house without me?"

"Quiet." She says and I hear a double meaning behind her words. My thoughts are confirmed when she says, "It's not the same without you here. I'm never going to be able to get used to it."

"My death is inevitable, Mum."

I hear her intake of breath. "I wish you weren't so forthcoming."

"Do you?" I ask. "Do you really wish I was any different?"

She regrets her words instantly and I can hear a wave of tears building. "Of course not, honey."

"Mum, chill out." I say. "I'm as healthy as a horse, right now. I still have some time."

"Well, I can hear the cheerfulness in your voice. You're happier in college?"

"Yeah." I say and it's completely true. Being surrounded by people – even if I don't talk to them all and they give me weird, judgmental looks – is better than being home alone all the time.

"There's a boy." Mum guesses and her question isn't really phrased like a question. "Isn't there."

Kaitlyn cracks up and I realise she can hear the whole conversation. Mum does speak down a phone rather loudly. I nudge her in the ribs and she smacks her hand across her face, giggling uncontrollably.

"Who was that?" Mother asks.

"That was Kaitlyn, Mum." I remind her.

"So I was right, then!" She cheers. "There _is_ a boy?"

"Not in the way you're thinking." I say. "We're just friends."

"They're just friends that talk about the metaphorical reasonings of the world and sneak out at night and exchange notes in class." Kaitlyn shouts down the phone and I push her away.

"So, you're on your way to becoming more than friends?" Mum asks, hearing Kaitlyn.

"I don't know." I say truthfully, giving up on pretending otherwise. "I _do_ come with a lot of baggage."

"If he loves you, your disease won't matter." She says, fully convinced that she is right and that the world works in that easy way. "What's his name?"

"Augustus Waters."

"Oooh, a strong name." She notes. "Is he tall, cute, handsome? Does he hold doors open for you?"

"Only the automatic ones." I say.

"Hazel, your humour does not become of you." She tuts but I can hear her silent laughter. "Can we meet him?"

"Absolutely not."

"Sure, we can!" She disagrees. "He can come over in the February half-term."

I silently groan. "I don't think he'll want to. He has his own family to visit."

"Well, you won't know unless you ask him, will you?" Despite my protests, she doesn't give in. I give up. We talk for a few more minutes and then Dad is on the phone. We don't talk much – I think he's offended that I haven't come home yet – but I reassure him that I'll be home in a couple of weeks and he seems much happier when he hangs up.

"You have awesome parents." Kaitlyn says, still distracted by the laptop.

"Do you want to swap with Gus and come visit?"

"Nuh-uh." She shakes her head. "Just because I know that if I accepted, you'd regret that. You secretly want the time alone with him."

I don't reply. I don't want to admit that she is right.

* * *

That night, Kaitlyn drags her makeup bag and other various pieces of clothing and accessories in my room. We get ready together and she spends half of our time desperately going through my wardrobe.

"Hazel, you can't wear jeans and a t-shirt."

"Why not?" I cross my arms, feeling surprisingly petulant. "Is there a rule about it?"

"No, but you'd look like an idiot." She sighs. "How do you feel about your running skills?"

I eye my oxygen tank up pointedly. "Not very hopeful?"

She grabs my dorm keys and hushes me out the door.

Kaitlyn pulls up on double-yellow lines. I roll my eyes. Is she asking for a fine?

"We'll only be quick." She says when I ask her. "The traffic warden doesn't do his rounds for another hour so we've got time to grab a dress and go."

The shop is just about to close when we walk in. The attendant eyes us hatefully as we make a beeline for the 'evening dresses' section, clearing her throat every two seconds and staring pointedly at the 'opening times' sign. Kaitlyn ignores her but I feel slightly edgy.

"Kaitlyn, we don't have time!" I say. "Come on, let's just go."

"Nope!" She holds out two dresses. One is a light purple, mid-thigh length, strapped dress, and the other is a fuchsia-coloured halter neck. I shudder and pick the purple one.

"How do you know it'll fit me?" I say, when she makes a u-turn and heads for the cashier instead of the changing rooms.

"I have a good eye, Hazel." She almost sings as she enters her number into the pin machine.

"I'll pay!" I say, horror sweeping through me at the price tag.

"Relax." She says, flashing a smile. "My dad is the CEO of a major record company in Korea. I have enough money."

"That's not the point."

"Fine. Think of it as a very late Christmas present."

"I didn't even know you then."

"Well, then an early birthday present."

I smile. "My 35th half-birthday is in like two weeks." I say and when she gives me a quizzical look, I explain. "I don't have the best life-expectancy to get excited over annual birthdays. So I celebrate half-birthdays."

She nods, shrugging a little. "Makes sense." She hands me the dress. "Happy 35th half-birthday."

I take the bag, grinning from ear to ear. "Thank you!"

* * *

The club is crowded and instantly I feel myself start to regret my choice in coming. I feel constricted and my chest already aches from inhaling smoky air. I smell pot – at least, I think that's what it is – and the scent of body odour is quite strong. I make my way to the back of the club and hide in a dark corner, watching everyone else.

It isn't until I feel a small pang of disappointment in my stomach that I realise I am looking for Augustus. I can't see him, but then it's impossible to say he's not here with how thick the crowd of people is. The music is loud and sultry and the sexual tension in the place is tangible. I keep myself away from as many people as I can, feeling a little put-out. Kaitlyn said I'd enjoy myself here and yet, already, I am hating it.

The lights flash around and so, apparently, does skin. I see flashes of tits here and there, bare chests elsewhere. People make out left, right and centre. I kind of feel slightly sick.

Kaitlyn comes over to me and hands me a drink. "Here!" She shouts. "Cheer up, girl!"

I don't say anything, just watch as a cocky, brawny guy saunters up to us, swatting his hand on Kaitlyn's behind. She giggles and blushes. _I_ want to retch. He nods at her and she glances at me for permission.

"Go." I push her away. "Don't let me hold you back."

She grins and lets him steer her into the mass of people. I can't see her in the throng of bodies but I'm not concerned. She knows how to handle herself.

Someone touches me.

I turn and step away slightly. A man with a baseball cap stands behind me, leering sickeningly. He reaches for me again and I say, "Get away from me."

"What are you going to do about it, little girl?" He asks and I swallow my fear. He's twice my age at least. I can't do anything against him except scream.

He seems to realise that, also. He lunges for me and I barely have time to draw breath before his clammy hand clamps down on my mouth and I can't breathe. My vision blurs with tears of fear and I feel myself being dragged away. I hear a door open and then the cold of the night's air touches my skin. I fight and flail, trying to free myself, but it's useless. I am weak without the constant supply of oxygen. My heart thuds in my chest, hammering against my ribs. I feel sick.

I'm slammed against a wall and I scream against his hand, crying for help. If I can't escape, I can try and attract attention. He slams my head against the wall and my scream dies in my throat.

"Shut up or I'll make your incredibly short life even fucking shorter." He growls. I whimper but otherwise keep quiet. I don't know what to do. The panic rises inside me, builds like a tsunami. I am overcome with fear.

"Leave me alone!" I say against his hand, being careful not to shout. "Please!"

"I'm doing you a favour." He grins and I feel his other hand ride up my dress. "You don't want to die a virgin, do you?"

And his hand rides further and further and the panic consumes me. He touches my thigh, pulling at my underwear and I struggle against him desperately. His mouth clamps against mine sloppily, his alcoholic breath filling my mouth. I bite his lip and he cries out, pulling back. Without hesitating, he backhands me across the face and I feel my cannula slip slightly as pain cracks across my face. If it falls out now, I'm screwed. If it falls out now, I truly am a dead girl.

I can't escape and I can't call for help. I can't fight back or I risk losing my cannula...or worse. As his hands touch my breasts and legs, I swallow back the bile and close my eyes, willing for it to be over with.

* * *

**Don't forget to review! **


	10. Night's Mask

**Another update - kind of fluffy! Hope you're all enjoying my fic! Your reviews have been so awesome so far and every comment means a lot! Thank you and happy reading! **

**-Update soon**

"**In freedom, most people find sin."**

* * *

_Augustus Waters_

I don't see her disappear.

At first, I stand there, leaning against the bar with Isaac, necking another shot. When I go to slam the empty glass on the counter, I see her.

Hazel Grace Lancaster stands in the darkened corner of the room, looking mildly uncomfortable and out of place, her fingers winding around her oxygen tube. She stares at the people on the dance floor, a mixture of envy and disgust in her gaze.

I can't help the grin that spreads on my face. It's been a few weeks since I've last seen her, and God knows I've missed her witty comments and serene yet playful smile. She is beautiful, and I enjoy looking at beautiful things. I admire her for a moment before turning to the bar man and ordering another set of drinks.

"Dude," Isaac says, casting me a side glance. "Why have you got this stupid-ass grin on your face?"

I shake my head. "No reason."

When I turn back around, she's gone.

A forewarning shiver slithers up my spine, alarm bells ringing in my head. I nudge Isaac.

"What?" He asks, necking his shot.

"She's gone."

"_Who's_ gone?" He sounds impatient now, but I think he hears the panic in my voice because he pays me full attention now. "Gus, what's wrong?"

I gesture over to the corner where she had been stood. "Hazel. She was just there a second ago."

"She's probably walked away."

"You're not understanding, Isaac." I say, pushing my weight off the bar stool. "No girl with lung cancer can move that fast."

I make my way across the club, pushing and shoving past the other dancers. Isaac calls after me but I don't have time to answer. A horrible chilling sensation has crept over me and I know something is wrong. I keep my eyes peeled for Hazel, in case I _am_ over-reacting, but I don't see her. I didn't expect to.

It takes me another minute to push past the crowd, by which time Isaac is at my side. "Dude." He says, trying to regain my attention.

I am in the corner. I am in the dark corner of the club and she is not here. She is nowhere to be seen. I turn, my eyes seeking the glitter of the purple dress she'd been wearing. I can't see her.

"Isaac, she's fucking gone."

Isaac exhales and I know he is worried now. He knows I don't swear often. He knows I am serious.

"She might have gone out the fire exit." He points to a dull green, glowing sign just five metres away, tucked into an alcove. It is an emergency exit and it's been left ajar.

I yank Isaac's shirt, pulling him along with me as I stride towards the door. He doesn't protest. A sick feeling is building in my stomach and I am grateful that the alcohol hasn't got into my blood stream yet. The last thing I need right now is to be drunk.

I push open the door and stagger out.

It takes me less than a second to process what's happening. Hazel's eyes find mine and they widen with relief and alarm. She struggles against the man that holds her, releasing his hold on her mouth to cry, "Gus!"

I don't know which of us leap into action first, me or Isaac, but suddenly, at the sound of her desperate voice, I see red.

"Get your fucking filthy hands off her, you _asshole_!" I shout, launching myself off the steps and into the alley. The man steps away from Hazel and she falls, her weight no longer supported. Beside me, Isaac is bellowing a stream of profanities at the man and we stalk him as he backs into the blocked end of the alley. I lunge at the man, and he holds his arms up to block my punches. I want to at least get two clean hits. One for me, and one for Hazel Grace.

Isaac pins him down and I hear a crack as Isaac's fist connects with the guy's nose. A flash of crimson and then blood is everywhere.

"You think praying on a girl with cancer makes you a big man, huh?" He growls, hitting him again. "It doesn't make you strong. It makes you _weak_. She's a fucking seventeen year old, _dying_ girl! You cold-hearted, cowardly bastard!"

Hearing Isaac defend her seems to awaken the senses in me. I turn around and leave Isaac to the man, sprinting back down the alley towards Hazel Grace. She lies there, still, and a lump forms in my throat.

"Hazel Grace?" I say, kneeling down beside her. Her cannula is dislodged from her nose and I carefully reattach it, inserting the nubbins. "Can you hear me?"

"Augustus..." She whispers and she raises a shaky hand to wipe at her eyes. "I'm fine. I...I don't know how it happened. It was my fault. I was so stupid."

I've never heard her like this. She sounds so forlorn, so tired and fragile. Anger rears its ugly head and it takes every ounce of willpower not to let it spill into my voice.

"Did he hurt you?"

"Um..." She sits up, her voice barely a whisper where she is trying to inhale enough oxygen to let her breathing return to normal. She raises the skirt of her dress and though I want to avert my eyes, I can't. I need to know if she's injured. I need to know if the sick psychopath caused her harm.

Several purple finger marks line the tops of her inner thighs, already forming into bruises. She winces as she prods one and I swallow my fury.

"Just bruises." She says, and I know that she is relieved by that. "If you hadn't have come here..." A sob escapes her throat and I gather her into my arms, my blood boiling with rage at the damage caused to her. I let my fingers brush through her pageboy hair cut, my lips touch her forehead and I hold her close. I don't want to let her go. I don't want to see her like this again.

* * *

_Hazel Grace Lancaster_

Augustus holds me, his muscles taut with rage, and says nothing as I cry. I feel stupid and weak and pathetic, but the shock just seems to take control. We don't speak even as Isaac approaches.

"Where is he?"

"Out cold." Isaac says and I hear a note of self-satisfaction in his words. "The monster deserved it."

I hear – rather than see – him crouch next to me. "Hazel?" He says and his voice is suddenly a lot kinder. "I'm sorry you had to go through that."

I close my eyes, fresh tears forming. I can still feel his hands on me. I feel dirty and used and worthless. I swallow my tears and look at him.

"Thanks, Isaac." I say, forcing a smile. "Thanks for being there."

He touches my cheek, a brotherly gesture, and then says, "I'll call the police."

"No!" I say, shaking my head. "Isaac, no, please don't. I don't want my parents to hear this. I just told them how happy I was. I don't want them to drag me home under some exaggerated illusion. They'll think he's still after me. They won't realise that it was just a one-off, wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time kind of situation."

Augustus speaks, his chest vibrating against my cheek. "You should tell them anyway."

I'm not sure which 'them' he's talking about, but I shake my head anyway. "No." I say, setting my jaw. "I don't want anyone else to know about this. I want to carry on living my normal life. Please, respect that."

Isaac hesitates and I know that Augustus holds his breath in thought. Finally, Isaac's shoulders drop. "Fine." He sighs. "The guy has had a punishment anyway."

Augustus lets out his breath, the air tickling the top of my hair. "How badly did you do him in?"

"Pretty badly, dude." Isaac grins, brushing his shirt off. It's completely pointless; it's covered in blood. "I doubt he has any teeth left and I'm pretty sure he'll be temporarily blind for a while."

The boys laugh and I can hear the release in their voices. They're both just relieved that I am safe, that they got to me on time, before anything worse could happen. The sound makes me warm inside and my lips curve into a real smile and unexpectedly I am laughing too. Though I think mine is of shock. Augustus arms tighten around mine and he presses his face into my hair. I cling to his shirt, the both of us laughing in shock and relief, as he holds me.

Isaac goes back to the college dorms. Apparently, I ruined his night and he isn't feeling the fun anymore. I did try to apologise but he waved it off.

"You didn't ask to be dragged out a club, kicking and screaming, and then sexually abused in an alley." Isaac points out. I wince at the words 'sexually abused,' thinking them too harsh, but then I realise that is exactly what happened. It may not have been rape, but it could have been, and it was sexual abuse against my consent. The shock has worn away and now I just feel cold and empty inside.

"Do you want to go back to college?" Augustus asks me. I shake my head.

"I can't go back just yet. I need to calm down."

* * *

We leave the alley – and the unconscious pervert – behind as we head out into the street. Augustus wraps his brown jacket around my shoulders, worried at my constant shivering. It smells clean and masculine – like him. I bury myself in it, wrapping it around myself as I inhale the scent the same way a drowning man would suck in his first breath of air.

Augustus wraps his fingers around mine, squeezing firmly, as though he is afraid of letting me go. We walk the streets of the city, observing it's half-awake atmosphere. The night's sky makes all the lights seem that much brighter and at some points, I find myself squinting.

"Okay?" Augustus asks me, his blue eyes concerned. He's checking on me, ensuring I'm alright.

"Okay." I respond. I smile at him, trying to show him how content I am to be in his company. There's something about his presence that calms me, soothes me.

"I'm sorry that happened to you."

"I'll never understand why the human race feels the need to apologise for something that isn't their fault." I say gently.

"You make a sound point, Hazel Grace." He grins. "But I still wish it didn't happen to you."

"It happened to me because I was the only one in that club that wouldn't be missed if I was abducted." I stop and sit on the kerb of the pavement, watching the traffic go by. I get a few beeps from taxis and such like, but otherwise the drivers ignore me. After a while, Gus sits beside me, his arms resting on his knees. "All the other girls had friends, boyfriends, siblings they could go back to. I had no one who would notice I was gone."

"I noticed." He responds, his blue eyes staring into mine. "I always notice you."

"I am so thankful that you did." I whisper, staring as the traffic whizzes by. "Thank you for doing that for me."

He chuckles, running a hand through his mahogany hair. "At this point, there isn't much I wouldn't do for you, Hazel Grace." He says, "For better or for worse."

A small stretch of comfortable silence lasts between us. "Mum called."

"Earlier?"

I nod. "She wants to meet you."

I can see the slow, satisfied, crooked grin spread across his face in the corner of my eye. "Does she now."

"Hmmm." I say, non-committal.

"How did she even know who I was?"

"I may have told her that you dragged me to the top of a cliff-"

"Kicking and screaming."

I nod. "And you took me to a barn dance-"

"Technically, I didn't take you. You met me there."

I roll my eyes. "And then you took me to an empty theme park at midnight." I finish. "And to top it all off, you've spent the last four weeks distracting me from my learning by that freaking pen of yours. She was curious to say the least."

He laughs, the sound rich and full. I giggle alongside him and then we're both crying with laughter, in hysterics, sat on a city pavement in the early hours of the morning.

After finally sobering up, Augustus nods. "Well, my parents' wedding is on the Saturday at the end of the February holidays."

I nod but I'm disappointed. He can't come.

"So I guess I can stay at yours for half of the holidays if you promise to stay at mine for the other half."

I gape at him. "What?"

"Mum and Dad said I was allowed to bring a guest to their wedding." He smirks. "The invitation specifically said, _'To the best son in the world, Augustus Waters, you are hereby presented with an invite to our exclusive wedding in Dubai and are eligible to bring just one guest only.'"_

And then somehow, the tickets are in his hands. I blink, completely shocked, unable to process what's going on.

"I've had them on me for quite some time now." Augustus admits. "I wanted to ask you back when we went to theme park but...it wasn't the right time."

"Now is?" I ask but the words don't come out. "What about Isaac?"

"I don't want Isaac with me. He hates weddings anyway." He murmurs. "No, I wanted you."

He hands me the invitations and I read the fancy, luxurious writing on the thick, cream card. The invitation doesn't declare all that Augustus claimed but they were addressed to Augustus plus one.

"Have you asked your parents?"

"Yup." He nods, appearing laid back. "They were surprised, to say the least, because they'd never met you before. But they supported my decision, if that was what I wanted. They're curious to meet you now."

I don't say anything.

"So, Hazel Grace," He clears his throat, and his eyes are nervous. "Do you want to go to the wedding with me?"

I bite my lip, prolonging my answer for as long as possible. "Okay." I say, smiling. "But only if you meet my parents first."

He grins and the happiness he shows is genuine. He runs a hand through his tousled hair, lying back on the pavement. He is careful not to stick his legs out into the road, though. "Okay." He says. "Hazel Grace, you have a deal."

* * *

Augustus and I walk around the city for most of the night, talking together and admiring the sights. We grab coffee from the twenty-four-hour cafe and roam the place, laughing and enjoying each other's company.

"It's going to rain." I say, staring up at the dark clouds rolling in front of the moon. Just as I tug Augustus into the nearest burger-bar, thunder cracks and rain falls. Eighties' music blasts from the juke box, and red and white striped tables dot the room, completely empty. The style retro and hip. Augustus, completely at ease, calls out to the dozing woman at the counter.

"One classic burger and one veggie, please!" He calls and the woman mock-salutes him, eyeing him up flirtatiously.

"Coming right up!" She seems to slide to the kitchen and it takes me a moment to notice that she is on rollerblades.

Rain patters outside and Gus smirks at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Before I can blink, he pulls me out of the cafe and into the rain. Instantly, we're both drenched.

"Gus!" I gasp, feeling the cold hit my skin. I gave him back his jacket a while ago, much to his protests, and now the freezing water soaks my skin. My short hair plasters to my face, droplets sliding off my nose.

"Hazel Grace," He says, "We are not so superior that we shall avoid that which the world offers us. When the world offers you rain-"

"You make wine."

"I thought that was the case for making lemonade when life gives you lemons." Augustus pulls me close, my body touching his. His shirt clings to his chest, his hair dripping water onto my face as I stare up at him.

"What else do you expect me to make with rainwater, Augustus Waters?" I ask and he looks down at me, and his eyes are so soft and his hands are so gentle against the curve of my spine that he takes my breath away. He is so beautiful, so damn beautiful, and I'm just me. Kind of like the way a potato is just a potato and is nothing compared to a shooting star – just a dull nothingness in comparison to something that's infinite in its beauty.

He doesn't respond. He just twirls me slowly and I turn under his arm, a puzzled smile on my face. "What are you doing?"

"Dancing with you." He replies, a smirk curling at his lips. "Because it would be such a waste to let that music play to no one and it is also a waste to let this rain fall unnoticed. You know what else would be a waste?"

"No."

"It would be a waste of an opportunity – choosing not to stand here, in the pouring rain with you."

My chest tightens at his words and I beam at him, unable to ignore how attractive he looks, soaking wet, his hot breath visible in the air. His clothes cling to him, emphasising his lightly-muscled figure and his skin is cold but comforting. He twirls me and sways me and we dance in the pouring rain, kind of like the couples do in movies. He doesn't kiss me, but we come close, his head against mine as we inhale each other's scent. We dance and dance on the pavement outside this retro burger bar to the eighties' music in the bucketing rain until the waitress calls us in irritably, a hand on her hip.

Inside, Augustus manages to coax a towel from the waitress and we both fruitlessly attempt to dry our sopping hair. We munch on our burgers and I am ravenous. It's not the best veggie burger I've had but I don't care. I only care about the boy sitting opposite me, digging into his burger, lounging lazily against the chair.

Eventually, he puts his milkshake down. "Hazel Grace," He says, swallowing. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because you're beautiful." I smirk and he rolls his eyes at my attempt to quote him.

"You never told me what you were afraid of." He says after some time. "I told you about my fear of oblivion. You never told me yours."

I take a deep breath, thinking through my catalogue of fears. It's a pitiful list, but then I guess that's a side effect of cancer. A side effect of _dying_. What is there to be afraid of when you know it's all going to end anyway?

I lean forward, my heart beating erratically. I say the words almost against my will; they slip out of my mouth and suddenly I can't stop.

"I'm afraid of dying." I say, "Not because death itself scares me, or because I'm afraid of the pain or whatever it is that comes after life. I'm afraid of dying because I'm scared of losing you. Wherever I go, you won't follow. And I'm afraid that I'll never again feel the rest of my short life the way I feel when I am with you."

He stares at me and I bite my lip, looking at my meal with distaste. I'm not hungry anymore. I push it away and Augustus' hand sneaks forward to steal one of my fries.

"You understand how fond I am of you, right?"

"Gus..." I close my eyes. "Please don't make me feel any worse than I already do."

"Grief doesn't change you, Hazel. It reveals you." Augustus murmurs. "I cannot claim the same. The turmoil of grief I will feel when I wake up to a world duller than it originally was because you are not in it...I can't describe it. The pain will be astounding."

"That's the thing about pain." I say, quoting him. "It demands to be felt."

"It's true." He inclines his head. "But without pain, how could we know joy? Though it is true that they are completely different things, I know that without the pain of your illness, of the knowledge that one day, you are not going to be here...without that pain, I could never fully feel the joy that comes with spending time with you."

"You never know what you have until it is gone."

"Except with you, I fully realise." He leans forward, his hand touching a wet lock of my hair. "You give me the worst pain in the world, and I know there will be more. But you also give me the greatest joy there can be. I can't compare it, Hazel Grace. You are the shining light in the bleakest of darkness. And that radiance," He says, inhaling slightly, "Is all I can see whenever I look at you."

* * *

**Please review! I'll update again soon!**


	11. Seduction's Pursuit

**So, another update! There were originally supposed to be two updates today, but apparently I have less time than I thought. So here's one, and Chapter 12 will go up sometime this week. I'll try to make it sooner rather than later! Enjoy – and please don't forget to review! I love to hear any comments/constructive criticisms from my readers. Read away!**

"**Love is keeping the promise anyway."**

* * *

"Hazel, I'm sorry to say this." Dr. Maria says, shaking her head sadly. "I really don't think you'll be able to go. You're just too sick."

I sulk, my tailbone at the very edge of the seat, my arms crossed. Mum and Dad lean forward, trying to coax the doctor into changing her mind. Angry tears form in my eyes. If I wasn't sick, I'd be able to go to Dubai with Augustus next week and live the experience of a lifetime. But because my lungs totally _suck_ at being lungs, I'm homebound, forbidden to travel abroad.

"Even if Hazel was only to go to the hotel and wedding reception...nowhere else?" Dad asks the doctor, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lancaster, but unless you really want to compromise the health of your daughter, I really can't condone the trip."

Mum and Dad kind of deflate, disappointed. I feel annoyed. Annoyed and angry.

"What about if Mum came?" I ask, almost against my will. "Or a nurse? What if we funded the trip for a nurse to come with me?"

"There isn't enough time to sort out all that paperwork, Hazel." Dr. Maria tells me, a sympathetic tone to her voice.

"Screw the paperwork!" I half-shout. "We're talking about my life here. I really really don't want to die having done absolutely nothing worthwhile with my time! Seriously? Are you freaking suggesting I stay here and do nothing for the rest of my sorry life?"

Dr. Maria pouts slightly. "I don't really know what to suggest." She says and I glare at her. Really glare. I've never unleashed such a forceful frown in my life.

"Fine!" Dr. Maria finally caves. She deflates, letting out her breath in a whoosh. "I'm sure we could make arrangements for you if you take one of your parents – preferably your mother since she understands your disease better." She shoots my dad an apologetic smile. "But Hazel, if something happens over there, we can't help you until you're back home."

"I'll be fine!" I smile, jumping up in my seat with glee. "I refuse to allow my lungs to fail on me, Dr. Maria. I really would like to survive this trip!"

Dr. Maria's face clears of guilt and self-loathing as she sees my pure joy and she laughs. "That's the idea, Hazel." She says. "We'll put you on extra meds, load you up with tanks and give you paperwork just in case something does happen over there and the doctors need to know what's wrong."

I can't help it; I throw my arms around her, hugging so hard that I struggle to breathe. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" I say, grabbing my phone and texting Gus.

_We're good to go!_

He texts back: _Oh My God. I just spilled coffee down my shirt because I was smiling like a goofy idiot._

I laugh at the text and the adults around me all do this soppy sort of thing where they smile adoringly and tilt their heads to the side. I ignore their patronising looks and shake Dr. Maria's hand, before walking out the door.

"I can't believe it!" I say to my parents. "I'm going to Dubai with Gus."

My mum and dad just nod, both beaming.

"Hazel, sweetheart," My dad says. "Your mother and I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Fire away." I say, in too good of a mood to be concerned.

"We think...We think it would be good if you went to a support group."

I stop dead in my tracks. "No." I say, not looking at them. "No. No way. No. You know how I feel about those depressing cancer support groups. All they do is talk about their cancer, how it's making them more depressed, and how they miss their dead friends. No."

"But, honey," Mum says, a beseeching quality to her voice. "You need to be around others like yourself. You need to feel like you're not alone."

I turn to look at her. "Cancer support group will not make that happen." I say. "In fact, it will isolate me more because I will not be able to refrain from loathing the whole depressing thing. I am happy, Mum. I'm happy at college, with Kaitlyn and Isaac and Gus. I can't explain how..._normal_...I feel when I stand with them. I'm not the girl with cancer. I'm the normal girl I've always wanted to be."

"But Kaitlyn, Isaac and Gus aren't going through the same things you are." Dad says. "They're not sick, sweetheart."

"Gus understands." I murmur. "He understands me when I complain about my lungs, or my imminent death, or how goddamn tired I am all the time. Augustus understands me one hundred percent."

Mum and Dad both hesitate. Finally, Mum cracks. "Fine. If you won't go to support group, at least see a therapist."

"A therapist?" I raise my eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"You choose, Hazel." Dad says, teaming up with mum. "It's support group or a therapist."

I shudder. "Anything's better than a therapist." I say. "I pick support group."

Apparently satisfied, Mum and Dad drop me back to college. I promise to call them when I leave college tomorrow to go back home.

"We could always pick you up-"

I hold up my hands. "No. No, thank you." I correct. "Augustus and I would rather take the train."

"As long as you're not alone, sweetheart." Dad kisses my cheek and ruffles my hair. I scowl. He knows I hate it when he does that. "See you tomorrow."

"Bye."

They drive away, leaving me at the gates of the college. I turn around and spot Augustus walking towards me from across the courtyard. He has a huge, genuine smile on his face and he pulls me into an embrace. I wrap my arms around his waist, inhaling his scent.

"The doctor visit went okay then?"

"Pros: I managed to gain permission to go to Dubai with you next week. Cons: I have to go to this stupid support group thing. It starts up when term re-starts."

He frowns. "That sucks."

"Yup." I say. I touch his cheek lightly, drinking him in. His eyes meet mine and the frown disappears from his face. "Okay?" I ask.

He nods, leaning into my palm. It's such an affectionate gesture that my heart almost stops. "Okay." He says.

* * *

The last day of college is the longest yet. In fact, the few weeks since Augustus asked me to come with him to Dubai have dragged so slowly that I almost gave up on hope that I would ever get to go. My morning lesson seems to take forever.

I sigh, twirling a pencil between my fingers as I etch another infinity sign into my desk. In the six weeks that I've been here, I've engraved four infinity symbols alongside Augustus', so the lines of each touch. Augustus, when he saw it, had smiled and said I had a secret crush on him to which I replied: "Don't be so big-headed."

And we'd both laughed because we'd both known the truth.

We are simply both very fond of each other.

"Hazel, can you tell me the relationship between Samuel and Ariana in the novel 'All the Black Swans?'" Lidewij, my lecturer, calls on me.

"Um..." I bite my lip, flipping randomly through the pages of my copy of the book, seeking hopelessly for some sort of glaring answer. I fall short so I desperately attempt to remember what happened the last time I read it – early last year. "Samuel is in love with Ariana...but he's afraid of getting hurt...because he knows that she has baggage – a reputation."

"Could you elaborate, Mr. Waters?" She moves on to Gus, eyeing him shrewdly. "Since you've spent most of this year lounging around and putting no effort in, perhaps you could enlighten us."

"Actually," Augustus sits up, clearing his throat. "Whilst Hazel's words were correct, they oversimplify the emotions felt between the two characters. Samuel is infatuated with Ariana. She represents his past, his present and his future in the sense that he's had a horrible history of girls like her, and yet he's drawn to her enigmatic personality, her fiery persona. He's drawn like a moth to a flame and he is completely aware that she's going to hurt him. That one day she's not going to be there when he wakes up."

I try not to look at Augustus. I'm afraid of the empathy I'll see if I do, of the pain.

Augustus continues, "He lives in fear that he's not good enough for her even though Ariana sees it the other way around. Because of this, you have the inevitability of one partner leaving the other, and guilt and self-hatred and pain being shared across both people. Mostly, it's a relationship that's doomed to fall apart and yet...is destined to be that great spark of happiness."

"That everlasting, star-crossed love." I murmur, finishing his words. I can feel the power of Augustus' eyes in the back of my head and the weight of the other students' gaze on me. I can't help but feel the blood rise into my cheeks. I sink lower in my chair, even as Lidewij smiles, surprised.

"It seems that the both of you have exceeded my expectations." She says, turning back to the board. "Maybe there is a chance you'll pass English Literature after all."

She moves on and I let out my breath in a whoosh. It's barely two seconds before I feel the jab of Augustus' pen in my spine once more.

"You stole my thunder." He accuses, his tone light.

"Actually," I correct, absently taking his pen from his fingers. "I think you'll find you stole mine."

I take the lid off his pen and put it between my teeth, smirking. A surge of confidence has risen within me and I give him back his lidless pen, purposely showing the lid between my teeth.

"I've sucked on that." Gus warns me and in answer, I close my mouth, playing with the lid with my tongue. Gus swallows, watching me, all hints of jokes gone from his face. I turn back around to face the front.

He pokes me with the pen again and I take the lid out of my mouth to say, "You better not have just inked on my back."

He shakes his head. "Can I have my lid back?"

I grin, say nothing, pop the lid back in my mouth and turn around.

I hear him say, "You are not like the other girls, Hazel Grace."

One day, I'm going to have to ask him what he truly means by that.

Confidence is empowering, I realise. Though I am just a scrawny girl with a cannula stuck up her nose, breathing her last breaths, I feel desirable. That confidence makes me feel so powerful, so strong. I finally feel like I'm on a level playing field with Gus, and that he is not the one taking _my_ breath away all the time. For this time at least, I have stunned him to almost-silence.

Most of the lesson drags by and I hear Augustus tap his foot impatiently against my chair leg. Once or twice, I deliberately turn around, swirl the lid around my tongue, grin mischievously and then face the front again. I swear I hear him groan quietly and in the reflection of the plastic-coated display boards on the wall, I see him run a frustrated hand through his dark hair.

Blood rushes through me. I think I am actually _turning him on._ I don't want to assume or get my hopes up, or get so confident that I become cocky, but I think he may actually...want me. The thought is as wonderful as it is bizarre. I've never thought of the concept before, of actually arousing someone with a word or an action. I feel like the most beautiful person in the world because I have gotten a reaction out of Augustus Waters.

Kaitlyn would be so proud if she saw this.

The bell rings and Augustus is already packed up and out of his seat in the time it takes for me to stand up. He stands before me, his hand outstretched, a small, unwilling smirk on his face.

"Hazel Grace," He says quietly, a warning tone in his voice. His blue eyes are dark and daring. He flexes his fingers impatiently and I smile sheepishly, dropping the lid from my mouth into my palm, wiping it on my jeans and then dropping it into his hand. I tilt my head to the side, my eyebrows raised in a challenge.

He places the lid on the pen and pockets it without qualm. I feel a hot stir in my belly. The way he's looking at me...it's like he's finally seeing me in a different light. I'm no longer innocent, naive Hazel. Yes, it was only a pen lid and I may be blowing this whole thing out of proportion. But I know, and so does he, that there was more than innocent thoughts behind the entire affair.

* * *

During lunch hour, the confidence disappears.

"What the hell was I thinking?" I moan to myself and Kaitlyn chuckles beside me. "I've never felt so humiliated in my life."

"Relax." She says, sliding me a slush-puppy across the table. Instead of drinking it, I hold it up to my cheeks, trying hopelessly to cool my warm blush. "What you did was hot, Hazel."

"No." I shake my head. "It was stupid and immature."

"Augustus didn't seem to think so."

"He probably thinks I'm an idiot."

"Augustus is probably one of the most intelligent of his kind," Kaitlyn concedes, twirling the straw of her own slush puppy with her finger thoughtfully, "But he is still male. He has at least _some_ sex drive, I'd say a lot of it. He was totally hot under the collar for you."

I groan some unintelligible words.

"Hazel, something as small as a pen-lid provocation is hardly going to jeopardize your friendship. What did you have to lose? He won't reject you and yet you had everything to gain."

When she sees it like that, it's difficult to argue with her. "I just feel so ridiculous."

"Every girl feels like that after their first try at flirting." Kaitlyn takes a sip, her straw rattling as she reaches the bottom of her cup. "But we overthink everything. And males...well, they _underthink_ everything."

"Not Augustus."

"No," She allows, "But if he doesn't _under_think everything, then he just thinks about it. He definitely won't _overthink_ it. No males can do that."

I laugh and we dissolve into fits of giggles. I feel relieved that Kaitlyn doesn't shun me, doesn't call me an idiot. It returns some of my earlier self-assurance. I dread seeing Augustus next lesson, but also anticipate it at the same time. I feel like I'm finally getting the message across – that I want to be more than just friends – and I think, maybe, Augustus might be receiving it.

* * *

Kaitlyn walks me back to my lesson after lunch, giving me this whole pep talk about why I should 'keep my shit together.' She's super excited about my reunion with Gus, desperate to gossip about the new development in our relationship. I wave her off when she tries to hang around, promising to give her a live update in class as and when anything happens. If anything happens at all. What's not to say that Augustus might spend the whole lesson pointedly ignoring me? I hope not. I bite my lip anxiously.

Lidewij arrives before Augustus does, and I file in the room with a disappointing weight in my stomach. Will he miss the class? Is he really so uninterested in me that way?

I sulk into my sit, leaning my head against the pen in my hand – an action that actually hurts. I flick the pages of my handout irritably, depressing thoughts churning in my mind.

"Hazel Grace," I hear his voice behind me and I wonder how I could ever have missed him coming in. His voice is strangely formal, although I swear I hear a hint of something darker, something softer in the tone. When he speaks again, I do not turn around. "I trust you had a pleasurable lunch hour?"

I'm aware of the other class mates around me, staring at us with confusion. They think Augustus and I have had a fight – they're judging by the formality of his tone, by his abrupt behaviour.

I don't know what his stiff manner is about, but I know he doesn't hate me. There was something too _familiar_ in his voice, too teasing. I swallow my nerves and turn to meet his gaze.

He leans forward, his elbows on the desk. His eyebrow arches when I look at him, and the same pen from earlier loiters around his lips. I suck in a sharp breath, feeling the hot stirring in my stomach once more. Something between us has shifted. My flirtatious manner has almost entirely eradicated our earlier innocent relationship – at least for now. Now he looks at me with a passion, his blue eyes so dark they appear almost navy. Something of a smirk curves at his lips and his tongue flicks idly at the pen lid. I nod, in answer to his words, trying to ignore his knowing eyes, and turn back around.

It is so difficult to concentrate for the next hour and a half. I can feel Augustus' stare, burning holes into my back. I'm acutely aware of his presence, of the way he moves, of the scratch of his pen against his work. I bite my lip, my chest constricting slightly. I am so nervous, though I don't know why. This is the same Augustus I have become accustomed to. This is the same boy I had a popcorn fight with, the same boy I squabbled over pancakes with. This is the boy that has become my best friend and yet, somehow, now, we are so much more than that. I have unknowingly opened the door to so many more emotions and I don't know how to cope with that but I know that, for now, it feels fantastic.

Twenty minutes before the end of class, the girl at the table next to mine passes me a note. She shrugs slightly, her eyes flickering to the boy behind her, who flicks his eyes to Augustus. I sigh and take the note.

When I open it, I blush slightly. I desperately hope the other two people didn't peek at it before passing it along but then I realise that there is no way Augustus would allow that to happen.

On the note, Augustus' eloquent handwriting reads one line. _You can't flirt and forget. ;)_

My stomach flips over. I know that expression. He thinks I provoked him and then pointedly ignored him. I scrawl down a response. _Who said I did either?_

I lean back, sliding the folded note onto his desk. I don't want it to go back through the other classmates. It might prove too much temptation.

I face the front.

I hear him inhale slightly before his pen is scratching away. I wait with baited breath.

I feel the pen poke into my back and I lean back to take the note. The rest of the room is silent, working. I try hard to stay quiet.

I open the note. _I know your game._

I grin, biting my lip to stop the giggle that wants to escape my lips. In response, I slide back the note.

I hear him flip it over, looking for my written response. He won't find it – I didn't reply. I want to laugh, but I can't disturb the class. I hear Augustus let out his breath in a whoosh and I know that he won't let this one drop.

When class – the _term_, I should say - finally ends, I make my way to the door. I am careful to avoid Augustus who – yet again – has been stopped by the teacher. I can see he is impatient to leave – can tell by the tapping of his foot, the frantic nodding of his head. I pack up my bag and head out to my locker.

* * *

When I reach the row of lockers, I gape, freezing on the spot. Augustus lounges against my locker, arms crossed, a knowing smirk on his face. I take a deep breath and head towards him.

"Hazel Grace," He nods in greeting, his eyes following my every move. "Okay?"

"Okay." I say weakly. _What's he going to say?_

In fact, he doesn't say anything. He watches me carefully, his eyes tracing my face. Every so often, I'll catch him grinning at me, a knowing expression on his face. Sometimes, I'll smile innocently back which only seems to infuriate him further. He runs a hand through his mahogany hair, the tell-tale sign of his frustration.

"How did you get to my locker so fast?"

"I know the college better than you." He boasts. "I took a detour."

I only nod, though I make a mental note for him to show me this detour at some point. "We leave for the train at five."

He mock salutes me. "I'll be looking forward to it." He says softly, and the way he looks at me takes my breath away.

It's going to be a long, _fulfilling_ half-term.

* * *

**Don't forget to review :)**


	12. Concealed Conflict

**Another chapter! I actually had more planned for this chapter but then I had to split it in half because it became too much for one update. So enjoy, let me know what you think, and a new chapter will be up before the end of this week!**

"**The real heroes...aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people noticing things, paying attention."**

* * *

The train journey to my parents' house is like none I've ever taken before. Augustus acts the perfect gentleman: carrying my oxygen tank up some steps for me, opening doors, carrying my bag when I can't fully grasp it. It's sweet but I can't help but feel he's polite, but not _that_ polite.

Then we sit down on the train, and I understand what is happening.

"Hazel Grace," He says, "Have you ever played chess?"

I shake my head. "I know how to play." I rest my head in my hand. "So you were acting the gentleman so you didn't feel so awful when you played dirty at chess?"

"And you think we don't know each other." He lays out a portable chess board, produced from his rucksack.

"Dork." I say, picking up one of the pieces. The board is magnetic, so each figure sticks. "Is this the part where you reveal you're a secret chess genius and I have no chance?"

"I wouldn't say 'chess genius'," He says, laying out the individual pieces in their correct positions. "But it is true that you have no chance."

I laugh. "Augustus Waters, you are the most pretentious bastard."

He looks at me, his eyes wide with innocence. "What?" He says, "Chess is a game that takes great practice to master."

I grin. I know it's not. Dad used to play, before I got sick. Then he stopped. I never asked why. I do know that it is not a game of practice, but it is a game of logic, of strategy.

"Black or white?"

I know whites go first. "White."

Augustus doesn't reveal anything as he rotates the board. I make my first move and Augustus smirks.

Ten minutes in and Augustus has taken four of my pawns, my rook and a knight. I, however, have only managed to take two of his pawns and a bishop. I'm sucking majorly.

He seems to get cockier and cockier with each minute that passes. It isn't long before he starts making remarks like: "Oh, I wouldn't have done that if I were you." And: "You do realise that you could have taken my pawn there, right?"

Honestly, it's infuriating. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me frustrated. Instead, I maintain a poker face, examining the board for any way I can take him.

About forty-five minutes in, there's a glimmer of hope. My bishop is in line with his queen. I smirk, sliding my bishop across the board with exaggerated slowness. Gus sees his mistake just as I knock down his queen, grimacing.

"Damn," He curses, and he's adopted this accent that is sort of dorky and cute at the same time. "Should have seen that coming. No matter! Hazel Grace, you will not breach my walls again!"

I hold onto his queen tightly, as though it is my lucky charm.

Ten minutes before scheduled arrival time, I shout with victory, alarming several nearby passengers, and slide my queen across the board, trapping the king between my bishop and rook.

"Checkmate, Augustus Waters."

He flicks over his king, leaning back to regard me shrewdly. He doesn't act offended or angry at my win. In fact, he takes his loss very gracefully.

"Hazel Grace, I think you are lying to me." He says eventually, after I have packed all the chess pieces away. "You have played that game before."

I shake my head again. "Nope. Dad used to play it a lot before I got sick. I used to spend hours watching him manoeuvre his board in tactical formations. Him and Mum used to play it together." A wave of nostalgia washes over me and I suddenly feel the pressure of time – or lack of it – more than ever. "I never played." I say softly.

"Well, you beat me, fair and square." He says, leaning forward. He looks me in the eye, all trace of light-heartedness gone. "You knocked down my walls and invaded, taking hold of my troops and claiming them as your own."

"I think you have a fetish for metaphors."

"I think you have a fetish for boys that take you to strange places." He counters. "Theme parks, cliffs at midnight, an eighties' burger bar...and soon, Dubai."

"I don't have a fetish for boys and strange places." I say. "I have an Augustus Waters fetish."

To that, I receive nothing more than his most genuine, happy smile. And it's all I could ever need.

* * *

When we arrive at my parents, the scent of dinner is almost overwhelming. My stomach grumbles and Augustus grins.

"I'm liking your parents." He says, sniffing the air hopefully.

I roll my eyes. Typical male. "You'll like them even more if they actually deign to feed you."

"Of course." He says, no shame in his voice. He helps me tug my suitcase up the driveway. The sound of crunching gravel must warn Dad of my arrival because the door opens and he stands there, arms outstretched, always the comforting, loving father. I make my way towards him and hug him tightly.

Augustus stands off, slightly, watching me, his expression soft.

"Mr. Lancaster, sir," He stands up straighter when Dad shifts his attention to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Listen," Dad growls, all the earlier kindness gone from his face. "I do to you what you do to her."

"Dad..."

"So if you treat her respectably, I'll be amicable towards you." He says. I groan. "But if you hurt her, or break her heart, I will destroy you."

"Dad, this is completely unnecessary."

Augustus doesn't seem to think so. His face is sombre, his eyes solemn as he nods. He holds out his hand and my father takes it, shaking it firmly. "Understood." Gus says, "I'd never want to hurt your daughter, sir. She is the shining light in the bleakest of my darkness."

Dad nods gruffly. My cheeks are burning with embarrassment. Mum calls us from inside and when Dad's back is turned, I shoot Augustus an apologetic glance. He smirks slightly, completely unruffled.

Mum comes in from the kitchen, an apron wrapped around her small, petite body. She hugs me tightly, her lips in my hair.

"He's cute." She whispers and my cheeks flame further. She kisses Augustus' cheek, a motherly gesture, and he smiles slightly.

Dad grunts, flicking his thumb over his shoulder to Augustus. "The boy seems respectable. I like him."

Augustus relaxes slightly beside me, and I hear his breath leave him in a sigh of relief. I simply nod.

"Honey," Mum says, beckoning to my dad. "Can you come and help me with the carrots, please?"

Dad agrees, drops me a playful wink and strides in the kitchen. Mum waves at me and says, "Dinner will be ready in ten minutes, so if you'd like to freshen up – you've had a long journey. We'll call you when food is on the table."

"Thank you, Mrs. Lancaster." Augustus responds, adopting his gentlemanly self. "It's a pleasure to be in your home."

Mum flushes slightly, stammers, and leaves.

I roll my eyes at Gus. "You are such a sweet-talker."

"Flattery is my best quality."

"And modesty is not." I counter, but I grab his hand and drag him down the hallway. He picks up my bag as we go and I grin at his thoughtfulness.

"So," I say, "Mum and Dad have quite a large house. There're four bedrooms. I'm not sure where you'll be staying." I point to the bathroom. "Freshen up."

Augustus flashes me a smile, all teeth, and saunters into the bathroom. When he closes the door, I head to my room. I change into jeans that aren't half-ripped or faded, and a plain t-shirt. I mess with my hair until Gus knocks and I throw open the door. He stands in the doorway, dressed in a checked, flannel shirt and jeans. His hair is tousled and I'm filled with this urge to touch it. To see what it would be like to run my fingers through his hair. I look away.

"How did you know this room was mine?"

"I have an uncanny gift of a sixth sense." He responds automatically, but when I just look at him he shrugs, pointing to the door. "The name's a clue."

I cringe, glancing at the pretty-princess sign on my door stating: _Hazel's room. Keep out._

"I was seven." I say, blushing slightly.

"It's Disney." He says, disdain creeping into his voice.

"Hey!" I push at him lightly. "Disney is amazing."

"Disney is cliché." He responds.

"I _love_ cliché."

"Gah!" He rolls his eyes and eases into my room. "So…am I expecting any more surprises?"

"I'm not following…"

"You're not going to turn all flirty on me at the dinner table, are you? Because that would be super awkward, with your parents there and all."

"I was _not_ flirting!" I lie.

"Eating my pen lid isn't technically flirting." He agrees. "_Making out_ with it is. You were all over it."

I swear my face is going to combust with the amount of blood rushing to it. "Oh my god, I feel so ridiculous."

"Actually," He rubs the back of his neck and for once, I see that he is slightly embarrassed, too. "It was hot, Hazel Grace."

"Really?"

"Why do you think I asked for it back?" Gus says and I gape at him. "My souvenir."

He laughs and ducks out of my room when I throw my cushion at him, just as my mum calls dinner. I stand there for a few seconds longer than I should, trying to process what just happened. I pray my cheeks cool down before my parents notice. I don't want them thinking that something happened up here in the little time we had. I don't need the disapproving stares.

* * *

As I reach the bottom step, the doorbell rings. Mum shouts for me to get it and I complain, pulling my tank down the hallway towards the door.

"Are you expecting anyone?" I ask, but the words come out as a mumble and they don't hear.

Augustus comes out the kitchen to follow me down the hallway – a protective gesture. It's kind of adorable, really.

I open the door and silently groan.

My cousin stands at the drive, a hand on her hip, staring at me the same way someone stares at a three-legged dog.

"Hazel..." She coos, flipping her gorgeous, platinum blonde hair. She wears a light blue vest top tucked into her high-waisted denim shorts. Her legs seem to go on forever. "I'm so glad you're here."

"Phoebe." I say, not too pleased. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Your mum invited me over."

Mum evidently hears us as she calls through the corridor, "I forgot to say! Phoebe is coming over."

"Thanks, Mum." I mumble unintelligibly. I tell Phoebe, "Well, you might as well come in."

Phoebe Lancaster is my Mum's sister's daughter. She is the complete opposite of me in every single way. Where I am short, scrawny and plain, she is tall, curvy and beautiful. I feel like a potato stood next to her.

"Hazel, darling," She smiles falsely and plays with my hair, her sapphire blue eyes cold and aloof. "It's been so long since I've seen you."

Embarrassed, I step away and bump into Augustus.

His hands steady me and he grins apologetically. "My bad."

I don't have time to mention that it's clearly not his fault before Phoebe speaks, her voice an octave lower than before, huskier.

"I don't think we've met." She purrs, offering her hand to Augustus. He shakes it, smiling kindly. "I'm Phoebe Lancaster, Hazel's cousin."

"He's Augustus Waters." I jerk my thumb over in his direction. "No title."

Gus glances at me quizzically and I think I see an ounce of hurt in his eyes before he smiles, covering it up. "Right. I'm a friend of Hazel's."

I suck in a breath, surprised by how much that comment hurt. Although technically, that's what we are, I feel like we are more than just friends. We have something deeper and stronger. I feel like he's totally disregarded me. But then, I guess he thinks I've done the same.

Neither of us speak anymore as Dad calls us in for dinner.

* * *

Upon walking in, the table is completely set. Napkins, cutlery and wine glasses dot the table and I see plates of food in the centre. Turkey, carrots, broccoli, roast potatoes. My parents even remembered to cook some fake-meat. Augustus notices it too and when my parents are busy checking over everything, he leans into me.

"What made you want to be a vegetarian, Hazel Grace?"

"I decided I want to minimise the number of deaths I am responsible for." I say softly.

He nods in acknowledgment, his eyes clouded with thought, and he doesn't respond.

Augustus sits next to me, my parents opposite. Phoebe sits on the other side of Augustus. My dad- who has never really been the over-protective type – now drops the facade and interacts with Gus benignly. I roll my eyes and dig into my vegetarianised roast dinner.

"So, Hazel, Gus," Mum says, after we all plate up our food. "How is college going?"

"Great," I say, unenthusiastically. "Really good."

Augustus chuckles and nods, agreeing with me. He asks for the gravy and I pass it to him, our fingers brushing. I blush.

"And you're both studying the same subject?" Dad asks, "Gus – can I call you that? – I never would have placed you with English Lit."

Gus shrugs, swallowing his food. "What would you have put me with, Mr. Lancaster?"

Dad shrugs. "I don't know." He takes a swig from his wine glass. "Sports?"

"I used to play basketball." Augustus concedes. "But I gave up."

"Why?" Phoebe asks, leaning forward with curiosity. Her low-cut top sinks even lower. I shovel more food into my mouth a little too violently and a carrot flies off my fork. Mum scowls at me, a warning in her face.

"Well, it was going well and I was tipped to receive a basketball scholarship. But as I was playing my final game of the season – right before the end of term – I realised something." Augustus pauses and Phoebe nods her head eagerly and my parents both make this 'hmmm?' sound, interested to hear more. "All at once, I couldn't figure out why I was methodically tossing a spherical object through a toroidal object. It seemed like the stupidest thing I could be doing."

I can't help the smile that twists at my lips. His words...his words are so _Gus_. So superior and allegorical.

Mum and Dad look kind of lost, as if Gus just spoke in an entirely different language. I nudge him under the table and his leg brushes mine. An ounce of my annoyance dissipates at the gesture – so Gus has remembered I'm still here, after all.

"Mum, there's something you should know about Augustus." I say. "He's a self-aggrandising bastard. And he ponders the abundant metaphorical resonances of _everything_."

Gus doesn't even look offended. He just smirks at me, his blue eyes glittering with mirth.

Mum and Dad seem to half-recover. Dad says, "I now see you and English Lit are a _perfect_ combination."

"Gosh," Phoebe remarks, "You must be so intelligent."

I almost cough up vomit.

"English Lit really isn't that hard." I say, an edge to my voice. "It's simple analysis."

Phoebe just smiles at me, her blue eyes flinty.

Augustus glances at me. "Are you insulting my intelligence, Hazel Grace?" He murmurs, smirking mockingly.

"You don't need another excuse to expand that already-large head of yours." I say, but I touch his forearm under the table. I really don't want him to think I'm mad at him. I'm just trying to get Phoebe to back off. Since she's arrived here, she's done nothing but stare at him with wide, flirtatious eyes and flatter him at every given opportunity.

Gus laughs and Mum and Dad both deflate with relief, glad that they don't have to reprimand me for my 'insult.'

I turn to Phoebe. "How's your boyfriend? What was his name...Jack?"

"No, he was gone ages ago, Hazel." She tells me as though she's told me a hundred times. "No, I was with Ethan until like...two weeks ago. But then we had a fight. He keeps calling me but...whatever." She shrugs.

My parents roll their eyes. They're used to this kind of behaviour from Phoebe; she's been swapping and changing boyfriends since she started wearing bras.

"Maybe he's trying to apologise." Augustus says, sipping from his glass of wine. "I mean...you should think about forgiving him."

Phoebe doesn't seem ecstatic about the idea. "I don't need him in my life anyway. He wasn't exactly hot or anything...I don't want to talk about me. Let's talk about _you_."

Augustus swallows his mouthful and puts his glass down, a thoughtful look in his gaze. When he looks at Phoebe, something like disdain crosses his features.

"Perhaps the boyfriends aren't the problem. Perhaps the problem lies in the fact that you judge the quality of a person on their _appearance_, as opposed to their personality."

I choke and Augustus instantly helps me, offering me a drink and patting my back. Hidden behind his wine glass, Dad observes Augustus with something like respect in his eyes, a humoured smile playing at his lips. Phoebe looks shocked and angry. She glares at me, as though it's _my_ fault that Gus said what he did. I sip my drink, my cheeks flaming, and then carry on eating.

Silence envelopes the table. I stab at my carrot, awkward, and the sound of the fork against the plate is the loudest in the room.

"It is true," Phoebe eventually says, her voice quiet. "that I befriend only those that are attractive, Augustus Waters, but at least my friends will stay alive for more than a couple of months."

I freeze, shock coursing through me. Everyone else seems to stare at me, as though waiting for me to explode. I glance at Augustus – who looks furious – but then the pain of her words become too much.

I drop my napkin. "Excuse me."

I barely manage to leave the room before the reprimands start.

Mum: "Phoebe, we understand you have a lot of issues at the moment, but that's no excuse for the plain nastiness-"

Dad: "I don't care if you're family or not, you will _not_ be welcome in this house if you insult or hurt the feelings of our family!"

And then Augustus: "If you'll just give me a moment."

By the time Augustus manages to catch up with me, I am already in the bathroom, sitting cross-legged on the toilet lid.

There's a quiet knock at the door. "Hazel?"

"Please, leave." I say quietly. I know that I am sulking, that I'm moping. The tears that flow down my face, however, are a product of the stabbing emotion inside me. I'm so hurt by her comments, so hurt by the way that my parents and Augustus didn't defend me.

"That is not an option for me." He calls through. "I cannot stand in the company of someone so small-minded and cruel."

"That small-minded and cruel person wouldn't mind." I can't help it.

"Ah." I hear him say and then he knocks again. "I understand what this is about. Hazel Grace, if you do not open this door right now, I may be susceptible to criminal damage. I would prefer not to risk it."

A bubble of hysterical laughter gurgles up my throat and I get off the toilet and unlock the door. Augustus strides in, running a hand through his hair. He looks at me, concerned and half-amused.

"I don't see what's funny." I sniff, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

"The jealousy is funny."

I glare at him. "Your sense of humour is appalling."

"Hazel, I'm sorry she said that to you." He leans against the bathtub, watching me. I cross my legs on the toilet seat again.

"She didn't. She said that to _you_."

"But we both know who it was aimed at." He smiles sadly.

I look away.

"Hazel Grace, I want you to know something." He kneels down, so that he is at my height, and the blue in his eyes is so earnest, so beautiful that I lose my breath. "I don't care if you have a couple of days, weeks, months or years left. I don't care if you have a whole life ahead of you - of course, I'd prefer the latter but the world is not a wish-granting factory." He sighs. "The point is: _I'm not going to leave you. _I know what I'm getting myself into with you. I know that pain, that misery is coming. I'll embrace it, Hazel Grace Lancaster. I'll embrace the pain you give me because then I know that what we had – have – is real.

"There are some people on this world who are blessed with physical beauty. They have the faultlessly shaped bodies, perfect metabolism, straight teeth, excellent hair and have smooth, clean skin. They are the most physically attractive people in the world and yet, you'll find that the majority of them are ugly."

"You drew the jackpot." I say, grinning. "You're beautiful and kind and honest and compassionate."

"But I'm also cocky and pretentious and irritating and stubborn."

I nod, conceding. "That too."

"Anyway, it's not the beauty that's on the outside that counts." He says, touching my chin. "It's what's on the inside. That's why - no matter how much your cousin flatters, flirts and fawns – I will always choose you over her."

I stare at him, my forehead resting against his. I inhale his scent, savouring his presence. After a while, I sigh and lean into him and he folds me into his arms. I listen to his heart rate through his shirt – and it's as quickened as mine. I smile; I have that affect on Augustus Waters.

_You knocked down my walls and invaded, taking hold of my troops and claiming them as your own._

Augustus was, if nothing, an aficionado of metaphors.

* * *

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	13. Revealed Essences

**I love this chapter. I really do. *squeals* Fluffy! **

**Anyway, the next update probably won't be until roughly the middle of next week– I have four exams next week so I have to spend the next few days cramming and probably not writing fics...which is what I've spent the last four hours doing. Wish me luck! Anyway, enjoy the chapter and update coming soon!**

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"**You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence."**

* * *

Mum and Dad kiss my forehead.

"I want to know you'll be alright." Mum says anxiously. Then she turns to Dad. "Honey, I don't think we should go-"

"Mum," I say irritably. "We'll be fine."

Mum and Dad are going out to the cinema tonight, leaving me, Gus and Phoebe here. Phoebe is holed up in one of the guest rooms; I think she's avoiding us, which is fine by me.

"Any trouble, call me, okay?"

"Sure."

* * *

Barely half an hour after they left, Augustus barges into my room.

"Hazel Grace," He says, by way of acknowledgment. "I have come bearing gifts."

I lie on my stomach, The Hectic Glow blasting from my speakers, reading An Imperial Affliction. I put the book down and stare at him, my eyebrows raised.

"What," I say, "Is that?"

He holds up his arms, a slow grin unfurling on his face. "You are the most boring person." He tells me, clutching at two bottles of vodka and two shot glasses. "Drinking game."

"No freaking way, Gus." I say, picking up my book again. "Mum would have kittens if she found out."

"Nope." He throws himself onto my bed, laying down two shot glasses on the duvet. "Your parents love me. Besides, they won't be back until tomorrow."

I stare at him. "What makes you think that?"

"I overheard them talking about their hotel reservation tonight." He waggles his eyebrows mischievously and the whole action makes me laugh. "Think they're planning on having a little fun?"

I roll my eyes and make retching noises. After I say, "I still don't think it's a good idea. The alcohol might dull my meds."

He leans back, shrugging. "Fine. More for me, I guess. But Hazel Grace?"

"Hmm?"

"You should live a little. I mean...you may not get another chance."

"_Augustus Waters,_ you are a self-aggrandising bastard." I grab a bottle of vodka, throwing my book behind me as we settle on the bed, crossed legged, facing each other. "What's on the cards then?"

He rips some pages out of my notebook on my desk and hands them to me, keeping a sheet for himself. He takes the lid off his pen and says, "Most embarrassing secret."

I grin, unable to stop the giggle that escapes my throat. Once we've both finished writing, we reveal our secrets.

He reads mine and snorts.

"You pissed on a tree?"

"Oh, come on!" I say, hiding my paper. "I was in the middle of nowhere and I was desperate." I wave senselessly towards his. "Isaac kegged you? Damn, that's embarrassing."

"We were playing a charity basketball game with college and I jumped up to shoot and he pulled my shorts down." He winces, a slight flush to his cheeks. "That was so mortifying."

"I bet you sauntered around as if it didn't embarrass you at all, didn't you?"

"What else was I supposed to do?" He shrugs, laughing and points to me. "I win that round. Drink up."

He pours me a shot of vodka and I down it, feeling the sting of the alcohol burn my throat. I choke slightly, not used to the tingle and then grin triumphantly. Augustus laughs.

"Biggest lie you've ever told." I say to him and he shrugs.

"Easy." He says, "I told Martha I'd be okay when she died."

I bite my lip, my voice soft. "I told myself I was going to live."

He stares at me for a long time. Then, he pours himself a drink and toasts it to me silently, downing it in one. My chest tightens.

"Furthest you've ever gone with a guy." He gasps, putting his glass down.

"Gus." I say, "I'm a girl with cancer."

"You are, as always, of the most observant." He says but he still expects me to answer.

"Fine. I kissed a guy when I was thirteen."

"You kissed him." Augustus seems disbelieving. "Is that it?"

I cringe slightly. "He may have touched my breasts."

He cracks into laughter, a full, genuine laugh. I throw my pillow at him, outraged, and he says, "You surprise me every single day."

"It's not _funny_." I hiss and he stops laughing, but a smirk still plays at his lips. "What about you?"

"Guys aren't my thing."

"_With a girl!"_

He shrugs. "I haven't."

I gape. "No freaking way." I sit up straighter, scanning his face. "You really haven't slept with anyone? Ever?"

"Hazel Grace, why is that so surprising for you?" He doesn't look ashamed or bashful. He just looks honest and sincere – matter of fact.

"Because you're beautiful." I blurt. Then I shrug, my voice quieter. "Because you're the kind of guy every girl would dream of being with."

"Perhaps that is the case." He says carefully. "Or perhaps not. But making love is a two-way thing. It should be beautiful and emotional and with the right person. Someone you care about. It should _mean_ something." He tells me. "And I have never before encountered someone whom I deigned to share that experience with."

He says it simply, like no other teenage boy would. I keep my eyes on his as I pour out my vodka. Gus' hand shoots out, stopping mine.

"That doesn't mean to say I'm completely chaste. I _have_ had some fun before." His blue eyes watch me steadily, half-amused. I stare at him until he moves his hand and then I swig back my second shot of vodka, my eyes on Augustus the whole time. The glass knocks my cannula slightly, reminding me that I shouldn't be doing this...yet, I can't bring myself to stop.

I'm out of clever ideas when it's my turn to ask a question so I just say, "You have to get a tattoo; what would it be?"

He answers immediately, without hesitation. "An infinity symbol. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities."

I nod. "I'd get a pipe."

"What?"

"I'd get a pipe and underneath, it would say, _"ceci n'est pas une pipe."_

He frowns, working to translate. "This is not a pipe?"

I grin, "Exactly."

"But it is a pipe?"

"No, it's not." I say, "It's a drawing of a pipe. Get it? All representations of a thing are inherently abstract. It's very clever."

* * *

We continue drinking and move on from the truths to dares. By this time, most of the alcohol has reached my bloodstream and my head starts spinning. Augustus and I find ourselves laughing hysterically, uncontrollably over the littlest of things and it's so liberating, that feeling of happiness over concepts as trivial and meaningless as life because life _is_ trivial and it gives us nothing but small, inconsequential gifts – gifts that are inevitably going to be _meaningless_.

I collapse into Augustus' lap, my shoulders against his knees, the both of us chuckling. I giggle and close my eyes, feeling the buzz of the vodka in my body. I open my eyes and see Augustus smirking at me, his face above mine.

"I dare you to write something down about me." I slur, "And give it to me at a later date."

He grunts, surprised and he touches my hair affectionately, his fingers trailing down my cheek, over my cannula. The gesture seems so casual, thoughtless, but it takes my breath away.

"Get up then." He says, pulling a notepad towards him. I sit up, giving him his legs back, and he begins to write.

He looks at me once or twice while he's writing, just flickers of glances or stolen glimpses. I just smile at him and encourage him to carry on.

He writes for a while. Not too long, but not too short that I think he's not taking the dare seriously. Once he's done, he tears the sheet out, folds it up and tucks it in his jean's pocket.

"Done." He says, smirking. He pours us both another shot and we neck it. I still wince at the sharp pain down my throat. "I dare you to dance with me, on the bed."

"Now?"

He stands, shifting his weight to gain his balance. He holds out his hand to me, a challenge in his eye. "Come on, Hazel Grace."

"You know I don't dance."

"Exactly." He winks and I unwillingly slide my hand into his. He pulls me towards him, his arm sliding around my waist and we slow dance to The Hectic Glow. Our rhythm doesn't fit the music's beat, but both of us are too drunk to care. He watches me struggle to keep stability, chuckling when I grip his shirt to keep my balance.

And then I lose my equilibrium, trip over my own feet and fall on him.

I feel his chest vibrating beneath mine, the movement of his laughter. I giggle, throwing my head back so I can breathe easier. My lungs ache and my head pounds but I've never felt more alive than in this single moment.

I grab his hand. "Let's go."

He blinks in surprise. "Where?"

"You'll see soon enough."

* * *

We stand in the cool breeze, at the gateway to the park.

"This is my favourite childhood place."

"I am consciously aware that both of us have taken the other to some form of park." Gus says and I shrug.

It's dismal, especially in the dark of the night. The rusty old slide sits on one side of the park, and a set of swings at the other. Separating them is a set of monkey bars, the bars almost black with overuse. A feeling of happy nostalgia passes through me. I loved it here. When the pain of my illness, the anguish of the inevitability of my death became too much, I'd sit here and count the stars in the sky.

I look up and Gus follows my lead.

"There are so many stars out, tonight." I say.

"My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations." He responds softly, and I remember the time he first said that to me – sat on the hay bale at the barn dance a few months back.

We sit on the swing seats, rocking gently. My blood thuds in my veins, alive with the alcohol in my system. I feel so confident, so happy, so passionate. I wish I could feel like this all the time.

"I used to come here when I was sad." I tell him simply. "And cry a lot."

"The swing set of tears is so depressing."

"No, it's not." I chide.

"Hazel Grace, I'm telling you, this swing set is ninety percent of the problem." He curls his fingers around mine. Absent-mindedly, he says, "Lonely, vaguely paedophilic swing set seeks the butts of children."

I choke, my chest constricting, and take a deep breath before I laugh hysterically.

"Hazel Grace?"

"One minute..." I gasp, breathing deeply to clear my uncontrollable bouts of mirth. I don't know if it is Augustus or the alcohol that is causing me to lose control of my emotions but I don't want it to stop. I feel so liberated, so free.

When I am calm, we sit on the Vaguely Paedophilic Swing Set in comfortable silence.

Eventually, Augustus says, "I'm going to ask you a question and you have a right not to answer, but if you choose not to, you're subject to a forfeit chosen by myself."

"Uh-oh." I can't think what would be worse – Augustus' questions or his forfeits.

"What was Charles Darwin's last – unfinished- novel?"

Oh! General knowledge questions. A spark of competitiveness lights within me and I say, "Mystery of Edwin Drood."

He nods. "Good. Your turn."

I grin, thinking back to all those times I filled out those random general knowledge quizzes at the back of the newspapers when I was stuck in hospital. "Humans are ten thousand times more sexually active than what animal?"

He shrugs. "A guess – snakes."

"_Augustus Waters,_ is a snake an animal?"

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. "No. It's a reptile. I had a mind blank, okay?"

"Okay." I say. "But I get to choose your forfeit."

"Choose away."

The alcohol truly has gotten into my head now – my inhibitions are completely disregarded when I blurt – "Take your top off."

He quirks an eyebrow at me, a knowing smirk twisting at his lips. "Hazel Grace," He murmurs. "I may get cold."

"You should have thought about that when you classed a snake as an animal." I wave my hands impatiently. "Shirt off."

"Two can play your game." He pulls his shirt off slowly and I bite my lip. His body is tanned, lightly-muscled and smooth. I want to touch him but even the alcohol doesn't lower _that_ inhibition.

"What was the animal, anyway?"

"A rabbit."

"That can't be true." He scoffs. "When you think of rabbits, do you not just think of them rabidly going at it? Humans can't do that to each other – it'd be against the law!"

"I never mentioned intensity. I mentioned _activity_. It was your filthy mind that filled in the rest." It's so difficult to talk to his face when his chest is staring at me, but I manage it, though that's not to say I don't also manage to ogle his bare skin. He is beautiful.

"You're talking to me about filthy when you just initiated a strip tease contest."

In ordinary situations, I would have blushed and turned away. But now, I stare at him boldly, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across my face.

"What are you going to do about it?"

He just returns my grin and says, "What was made illegal in England in 1439?"

I gape at him. "How am I supposed to know that?"

"Hazel Grace, I'm going to have to press for an answer."

"I don't know..." My head refuses to come up with a response so I end up passing and Augustus gives me a victorious smile, genuine and ecstatic.

"What's my forfeit?" I sigh, waiting for him to tell me to take an item of clothing off.

He jumps off his swing, landing smoothly. He approaches my swing and I end up having to crane my neck to look into his mischievous, yet serious, eyes. I swallow apprehensively. He's half-naked and I can't. Look. Away. From. His. Glorious. Body. He smells like him – clean and manly – but the tinge of alcohol is tangible. He leans forward, his forehead resting against mine.

"Do you want to know what was made illegal in 1439 in England?" He murmurs softly, his cool breath brushing my face. Our proximity is intoxicating – I want to lean into him or touch him or run my hands through his tousled hair.

"Yes." I breathe.

"Kissing."

"That's stupid."

"I agree." He murmurs. "Your forfeit?"

I wait, biting my lip. He leans back slightly, so I can see his eyes, a swirl of blue, dark and mesmerising, arrogant and amused yet – do I detect a hint of nervousness?

"Kiss me." He says softly, but then he presses a finger against my lips. "But _not_ now."

"Okay." I whisper.

He touches my cheek, his thumb tracing my lips. His face is so open, so tender, my heart constricts. "Okay." He confirms and then, too soon, he is gone and I feel a tingle where his hand touched me.

* * *

When I wake up the next morning, we are still in the park, lying on the grass. My head rests on his bare chest and his arms are wound around my waist, his hand protectively tangled in my hair. My leg covers his – still fully clothed in his jeans- my hands tucked underneath me, on his chest. We are entangled completely and utterly, and at the crack of dawn, when the sun is just rising and the birds are just waking and the buzz of the alcohol from the previous night is dying, and my head is pounding and his heart is thudding against my hand and his steady breathing is disturbed only by my waking... right there and then, there is no other place I'd rather be.

So _this_ is what love feels like.

* * *

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	14. Repressed Desire

**Hahey, so I just completely screwed up my exam so I decided to wallow whilst writing this chapter. :D I managed to finish it a little earlier than I expected but that's good! It means you get it earlier!**

**Anyway, enjoy! Update soon!**

**Please leave a review! Tell me what you think/your predictions/anything! I love hearing from you!**

"**All efforts to save me from you will fail"**

* * *

Augustus looks slightly terrified. He nods to me, and I see his Adam's apple bob in his throat nervously.

I just told him that today, Mum and I are going shopping and we're inviting Kaitlyn along. Mum thought it would be better if Gus didn't come as we are shopping for dresses – dresses for Gus' parents' wedding. I secretly agreed with Mum; I wanted my dress to be a surprise for Gus, but he didn't think so.

"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?" He runs a hand through his hair, biting his lip. It's the first time I've seen him display such insecurity. He's usually so confident, so certain of himself. Honestly, it just heightens my attraction to him. He's not always infallible. He can be knocked down, vulnerable. He's human, like the rest of us.

"Well-"

"You're coming with me." Dad announces, walking into the hallway.

If possible, Gus pales further. I pinch myself to stop the laugh that threatens to escape my lips.

"I am, sir?"

"I offered to help our neighbour reconstruct her garden." Dad explains. "She needs some help with brick-laying. You have the perfect body type and, seeing as you have nothing else to do, I offered up your services."

Augustus brightens. "Sure. That sounds great." He actually seems excited by the idea. I scrutinise him, fascinated by the renewed passion in his eyes. "It's a beautiful day to be outside."

I smile, pleased. "I'll be home sometime this afternoon." I promise.

He salutes me, much to my Dad's amusement. Mum comes out of the kitchen, slinging her handbag over her shoulder. She nods to me.

"Hazel, are you ready?"

"Yes." I nod and we both head out to the car. Dad and Augustus follow behind, discussing the neighbour's plans for the garden. I get in the passenger seat, pulling my oxygen tank into the footwell.

"Oh, I forgot my phone!" Mum announces and she goes back inside to retrieve it. After a few seconds, she calls, "Honey, did you move my phone?"

Dad rolls his eyes and heads back inside.

Augustus leans down on the window, leaning into the car. He smirks at me, his fingers touching my oxygen tubing absently. In turn, I mess with his shirt, feeling the cotton beneath my touch. It reminds me of last night and the memory of his shirtless body lying beneath mine fills my mind.

As if he is reading my mind, he murmurs, "How's your head?"

"Painful." I tell him. "But to be fair, we drank a lot."

He grins. "If we could do it again, I wouldn't change anything."

"Me neither." I agree. "But I could seriously do with some greasy, fatty chips right now."

He laughs, his chest brushing my hand as he does. His forehead touches mine, an affectionate gesture.

"I still don't understand why I can't come with you." He says. "The thought of spending the day with your Dad is vastly terrifying."

I chuckle. "I don't want you to see my dress. And you'll be bored." I say, "Besides, Dad isn't that bad."

"No?" He deepens his voice, frowning, mocking my Dad. _"I do to you what you do to her."_

"That was the obligatory speech every Dad has to make when their daughters bring home a guy for the first time." I tell him. "He probably hated the whole affair as much as you did. Honestly, my Dad is the nicest guy you'll meet...He cried at _Marley and Me_."

"_I_ cried at _Marley and Me_." He says, affronted.

I sigh. "You'll be fine."

He touches my cheek, the back of his knuckles grazing my cannula. "Stay safe." He says, "And be home soon. Okay?"

I place my hand on his bicep, my fingers squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. "Okay."

He steps away, just as Mum gets in the car. As we pull away, I see Augustus and Dad, standing side by side on the gravel of the driveway, Gus holding his hand up in farewell.

* * *

The shops are bustling by the time we park up. Kaitlyn hops down from the wall, jumping up and down, her hand in the air. She looks utterly ridiculous. I get out of the car, pulling my oxygen tank along with me,

Kaitlyn runs over to me, squealing with excitement. Mum greets her warmly. Kaitlyn is wearing black jeans and a white crop top, showing off a slim stomach punctured with a beautiful, silver and sapphire belly bar. Her long black hair falls past her shoulders, sleek and shiny. I'm envious but also proud to call her my best friend.

"What's on the agenda?" She asks me.

"I don't mind what you want to do but at some point, I'm going to need your expertise in choosing a dress."

"Why?" She asks, confused. "What for?"

"Augustus invited me to his parents' wedding." I say. "In Dubai."

Her jaw drops. "No freaking way." She gasps. "No way. No way. No way no way no way!"

"Yes way." I nod, beaming from ear to ear. "I am his plus-one."

"That's. So. Fucking. Awesome." She says. "I can't wait to help you choose your dress. We're gonna wow Augustus Waters. When he looks at you, he's going to forget all those other women he's been with."

_There were no women, _I think, but I don't say the words aloud. Our secrets are ours to keep. Our little infinity.

We spend the day browsing, buying Starbucks and trying on clothes. Kaitlyn spends more money than I have actually seen in my life and it's not long before we have to take a trip back to her car to dump it all. It doesn't deter her, though, and when we throw ourselves back into it, she's still just as trigger-happy with her purse.

"What do you think?" I ask now, holding my hands out. I'm wearing a pale yellow dress and though I think it's pretty, Mum and Kaitlyn both cringe slightly.

Mum touches the skirt. "It's nice but-"

"It's nice but it doesn't say 'wedding-date-about-to-be-fucked.'" Kaitlyn says and I shoot her an alarmed look. She can't say that in front of my mother!

Much to my surprise, however, Mum just nods, touching her chin. "You're right. This says 'christening of my cousin.' If you're going to Dubai with a good-looking guy, you at least want to have some fun. This is going to scare him off!"

"Not sexy." Kaitlyn says and Mum echoes her: "Not at all."

I smile, grateful for their opinions and turn away. I step into the changing room but just as I go to unzip the dress, I hear Kaitlyn squeal and Mum exclaim in delight.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster," Kaitlyn says, "I have found your dress!"

Alone in the changing room, I smile. This is something best friends should be doing; shopping for dresses and gossiping about dates makes me feel normal. A sudden rush of affection swells through me for Kaitlyn and I know that I will accept her choice of her dress, no matter what it is, because it is her way of showing that she accepts me, that she cares.

* * *

Later, we look for somewhere to eat lunch, and Kaitlyn goes inside a restaurant to inquire if they offer vegetarian food.

Mum grips my hand, gaining my attention.

"What's going on with you and Gus?" She asks, not unkindly. There's a smile in her eyes and love so strong that tears pool in my eyes.

"Nothing." I lie. "We're just friends."

"He doesn't look at you like you're just a friend." She comments. "And he seemed pretty upset when Phoebe insulted you."

"He cares about me."

"'_Care_.'" She snorts. "What a ridiculous word. I _care_ about whether or not Ayisha gets kicked off the next episode of Britain's Next Top Model. I _care_ about whether I burn my toast in the mornings, whether my wet load of washing gets dry in time for me to wear my favourite t-shirt. Hazel, Augustus doesn't _care_ about you. He's completely _infatuated_ by you."

"Mum…"

"Hazel, darling, I don't mean to be insensitive, but you really don't have much _time_. Your future is one massive question mark – you're running out of days – and…you're spending time with someone who cares much more about you than you do about them."

"What makes you think that?" I mumble but I don't think she hears me.

She stares at me. "Unless you are, also, besotted."

I bite my lip. "I wish I wasn't."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a grenade, Mum." I sigh. "Because everyone around me forgets that this cannula keeps me alive and yet also serves as a reminder that I am dying. They forget that when they're working, getting married, having kids, I'm going to be six feet under – immersed in oblivion.

"I don't want to die. I really don't. Before Augustus, I was completely okay with the idea. I had no one here to stay for – I was causing you more pain than I'm worth. But now? Now I dread the day I don't wake up. I dread the period of silence before death. I'm terrified of what death might bring me, and whether or not it will be better or worse than the life I've lived. How can I be okay with dying when it means leaving you and Dad, leaving Kaitlyn, leaving Gus? I can't accept that. And now, my own apprehension of death chains me in a revolution of fear and I am so terrified of what I've always known was inevitable. How can you be afraid of something you've always known would happen?"

"I've known you're not always going to be around, Hazel." Mum says softly. "But I'm still terrified of the day I won't be a Mum anymore."

I suck in a breath sharply, my chest twinging. Sometimes, I forget that in some ways, I have it lucky. At least when I die, I won't be in pain anymore. But Mum and Dad are in pain, seeing me bite it from cancer, and even after I die, they will still be in pain, even more so.

Perhaps I am better off after all.

* * *

Inside the restaurant, Mum keeps our table as Kaitlyn and I go up to the bar to order our food.

"Hazel," Kaitlyn asks, completely serious. "Do you think Isaac's hot?"

I hesitate, surprised.

She takes my hesitation the wrong way. "I mean, not Augustus Waters-hot, because we can't all have him…but he's hot, don't you think?"

"Kaitlyn, am I under the impression you have a crush on Isaac Brown?"

"No, I mean." She blushes, all her earlier bravado gone. "We've been talking and every day, I feel different about him, you know? Stronger."

Oh, I did know. "You should date."

"Well, I don't think he would like that. He's still getting over Monica – Oh, did I tell you?" She asks. "He _didn't_ sleep with Monica after she ditched him! It was all just rumours."

"I did tell you that." I cast my mind back to our conversation, the afternoon before the night at the club. "They're not even talking, right? So all that about Monica persuading Isaac to come to the club-"

"Wasn't true." She admits. "Actually, I told Augustus you'd be there and voila, both the boys were at the club."

_Good thing, too,_ I think_. I wouldn't be standing where I am if it wasn't for them._ I don't tell Kaitlyn that, however. She doesn't know about the attack.

Instead, I roll my eyes. "So if he's still getting over Monica, how come you two are talking more?"

"I've been helping him through this awful time of grief and sadness." She pouts slightly, but a wicked grin lingers in her eyes. "_Truly_ terrible."

"And all that while you've been crushing on him."

She sighs, giving in. "Not _all_ this time." She protests. "But some of it…yeah."

"I'll be sure to let Augustus know."

She blanches. If it wasn't for the bartender asking for our order, she would have already shouted at me.

I order our food and drinks, watching Kaitlyn shift her weight impatiently. When we walk back to our table, she says, "No! Don't tell Gus, Hazel!"

"You don't want me to drop at least a few helpful hints?" I shake my head. "They're friends; it could set the motion forward."

She bites her lip. "Just a tiny hint?"

"Can do." Kaitlyn slides into the bench and I sit beside her. Instantly, she fiddles with the menu. I'm actually starting to suspect that Kaitlyn has the attention span of a two-year-old.

It's not long before I receive a text from Augustus.

_You were right; your dad isn't that bad. Until late, he's managed to swear passionately, drop a brick on his foot, trip over a shovel and hit me around the head with a pair of pliers. We're going good._

I laugh and read the text aloud to Mum and Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn chuckles and rolls her eyes but Mum gasps. "He better not hurt Augustus – I don't want his parents phoning up!"

"Relax." I say, texting back him back.

_Mum thinks you'll call childline._

He responds:

_Perhaps I will._

I laugh and write back.

_Home in a couple of hours._

He responds in half a minute.

_Okay._

I text back:

_Okay._

He replies:

_Oh my God, stop flirting with me!_

My response.

_Okay._

He doesn't text back.

Dinner is wonderful and both Mum and I can't finish our plates. Kaitlyn somehow manages to find room even after eating a doughnut and an ice cooler from Starbucks not half an hour earlier. Sometimes I wonder how she's so freaking slim. I mean, I'm skinny, but more of the ill-kind (you know, because I'm ill) but she's supermodel thin. The laws of food's relationship with weight just don't seem to apply to Kaitlyn.

* * *

Kaitlyn and I part ways and I promise to call her before I go to Dubai. When Mum and I pull into our driveway, Gus and Dad are stood on the pavement between our house and the neighbour's, both drinking iced lemonade, and both shirtless. It's the end of February!

I don't care much for Dad's bare skin, but Augustus catches my eye.

Apparently, I also catch his.

"Hazel Grace!" He calls, beckoning to me. I walk over to him, dragging my tank along with me. Without asking, I take a sip of his drink. Gus smirks.

Mum and Dad get caught up in conversation – discussing Dad's work on the garden – so Augustus and I step away slightly, into the shade of the alley between the two houses.

I can't stop looking at him.

He notices. "Why are looking at me like that?"

"Because you're half-naked and I…" I trail off, not quite sure what I was going to say.

He takes another gulp of his lemonade. "Hazel Grace, do you want to touch me?"

I gape at his forwardness. "I…"

He beckons to me, hooking his finger around my oxygen tubing, smirking. I take a few more steps forward and he takes my hand gently, twining his fingers around mine before he places the palm of my hand on his stomach. I can feel the ripples of his abdomen muscles underneath my fingers, tense. He takes a sharp breath and I smile, looking up at him.

Without warning, he pulls me into an embrace. My cheek rests in the hollow of his shoulder and my other hand lies flat against his chest. His head bows into my hair and I hear the quickening of his heart against my ear.

"Why did you do that?" I ask, referring to the hug.

"Because I had to resist the urge to kiss you." He says gruffly. "I _really wanted_ to kiss you."

"Why resist?"

"Because your forfeit wouldn't be half as much fun if I did." He says and I remember his words last night._ Kiss me… But not now._

"Okay."

"I missed you."

"I was gone for six hours, Gus."

"And I miss you when you're gone for _two minutes_, Hazel Grace. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Because no one ever cares enough to miss me."

"They do now."

We stand there, quiet for a moment. I listen to the sound of his heart against my cheek, feel his arms around me, his hand on the small of my back.

"I'm glad you're not injured." I chuckle after a while. "Mum was terrified we were going to come home to your dead body."

"Ah, your father's a good man." He says and I hear a supressed laugh in his voice.

I look up, catching his blue eyes. "What happened?"

"We had a little discussion about what we have in common."

"What do you have in common-" It dawns on me. "Oh." _Me._

"It was clarified between us that we both have your best intentions at heart – I think I've redeemed myself slightly." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "Let's not tell him about the drinking game, last night. I'd rather still have permission to see you than resort to climbing grapevines and sneaking under ajar windows at night."

My heart flips. "Okay."

"Okay." He touches my cheek, pulling back, and with regret, I step out of his arms, though my eyes still roam down his tanned, naked chest. Augustus, noticing, laughs knowingly, and I flush and turn away.

Phoebe is gone when I get inside. Dad says she left an hour after we did, and that she told him to apologise on her behalf. I don't accept her apology. She didn't just hurt me, she hurt my family and Augustus. If she wants forgiveness, she'll have to ask it of everyone.

* * *

Later, when I sit on my bed, cross-legged, watching Next Top Model, Augustus joins me. He lies against me, his head in my lap, as he reads the book set as our English assignment. I run my fingers through his hair, methodically, pleasuring in the soft silk of his mahogany locks. His eyes flick up to me, an easy smile on his lips. I smile back and then go back to watching the television.

"How was Kaitlyn?" Gus asks during one of the ad breaks. "You met with her today, right?"

I nod. "She's alright." I say, "Did you know she had a crush on Isaac?"

I gave up on hints a long time ago. They never work. If Kaitlyn wants to be with Isaac, then I should outright tell his best friend. Boys don't understand hints and they never pass them along.

"No." Augustus says, his eyes on me. The book lies open on his chest. "She'd be good for him, I think. She's loud and outgoing – someone to distract him."

"What do you mean?"

"Isaac has a difficult life." Gus murmurs. "He's been through a lot. His dad used to beat him and his mum is an alcoholic so…"

I grimace. "Damn, I had no idea."

"Kaitlyn is very positive; Isaac needs that. After Monica," He shrugs. "I didn't think I'd have him back again."

"Well, that's the thing…" I say. "Isaac has no idea."

"I'm not going to tell him." Gus says, a final note in his voice.

"But it would help."

"No, Hazel Grace, it wouldn't." He stares at me earnestly, his blue eyes smouldering with passion and belief. "Love is stronger when it's _found_. Not provided. Trust me, it's true."

The way he's looking at me, so certain, definite. I suddenly do believe him. There's something so indisputable about his words. But it makes me wonder; what we have, did we find it? Or was it provided by my wretched fate? If I wasn't ill, would Augustus have bothered with me?

The way he stares at me…I'm encouraged to think that, yes, if I was healthy, Augustus would still feel for me exactly as he does now.

Knowing that is a beautiful feeling.

* * *

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	15. Noble Humility

**Sorry, I know it's been almost five days since I last updated but this week was my major exam week so hopefully I'll be a little better at posting frequently now. Anyway, I loved all your reviews! Please also review this chapter if you like it! **

"**The tales of our exploits will survive as long as the human voice itself."**

* * *

_Two Days Later_

Augustus leans in to me. "Does your dad do this a lot?" He mumbles.

I cringe. "Define 'a lot'."

He chuckles and runs his hand down my forearm, finally lacing his fingers through mine. Mum battles with a suitcase on the pavement outside Gus' house, and Dad attempts to help her through his blubbering tears.

Dad cries a lot.

"We'll be back in a few days." Mum tries to console him, dumping the suitcase at the gate of Augustus' front garden. "There's no need to be in such a state."

"I'll miss you!" Dad wails and he wipes his eyes with the crumbling, soggy tissue. "Stay safe and don't get hurt."

You'd think he'd be okay with this trip as it's not like I'm going unsupervised. Augustus told me his parents invited seventy people to come to their reception – most of which are adults. _And I'm taking Mum, for God's sake._ What's the worst that can happen?

Dad stumbles up to me and kisses my cheek. I feel his damp tears against my face and feel a stab of sympathy. I guess, for him, it's not just one member of his family leaving him, but two. He'll be lonely for the next few days.

"Look after Tabetha." I say, referring to our neighbour's cat, who seems to inhabit our house more than her owner's.

He nods and turns to Augustus. I'm thankful that Dad has enough dignity to look Gus in the eye – even when crying. Augustus holds out his hand and Dad shakes it.

"Look after her." Dad murmurs. I think he's thinks I can't hear him. "I swear to God if anything happens..."

"I'll take care of her, sir." Augustus says, sombre. "With my life. I promise."

Gruffly, Dad nods. "I guess that's all I can ask of you."

When Dad gets back in the car – after a long and melodramatic farewell from Mum – Augustus helps with the suitcases and oxygen tank equipment. Somehow, he manages to simultaneously juggle the bags and luggage whilst also unlocking the door. I did offer to help, but he refused, like it was some sort of test of masculinity, of honour.

Honestly, some people.

"Mum? Dad?" Augustus calls as he walks through the entry hall. He dumps his keys on the shelf and puts our luggage in the living room. Then he swings by the doorway to shout up the stairs, "Anyone home?"

"We're in here, Gus!" I hear his Mother call.

Augustus grabs my hand and walks through the house. His house is smaller than mine, but it's cosier and more homely. Everywhere, little encouragements are dotted around. Hung on the walls in frames, sewn into cushions, bolted to cupboard doors. Things that read: "You cannot expect victory and plan for defeat." Or "Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end."

I'm not one-hundred percent sure that the latter is wholly true.

When we walk into the kitchen, his parents are waiting, leaning against the counter with their arms around each other. Augustus smiles at them and they smile back and I feel like an intruder all of a sudden, because I remember that Augustus hasn't seen his parents in months and I...I'm just here.

I raise my hand awkwardly. "Hi."

Augustus chuckles knowingly, as if he understands my discomfort. He gives me a kind, encouraging glance and says, "Mum, Dad, this is Hazel Grace-"

"Just Hazel."

"And she's got cancer and she knows it so there's absolutely no need to treat her like an exploding bomb, or a china vase, because she's completely aware that she is dying and wants nothing more than to live the last of her life normally. Don't treat her like Martha."

I gape at him but he's not looking at me. He's staring at his parents as though daring them to mention my disease, a challenging light in his bright blue eyes. Neither of them seem surprised at Augustus' words but then I think, if you had a son so philosophical and metaphorical and arrogant and forthcoming, wouldn't you be used to him? Perhaps that's it. Perhaps Augustus' parents are merely used to Augustus Waters.

His mum turns to me, kissing my cheek in welcome. "I've been looking forward to meeting you. I've heard so much from Gus!"

I cast him a sidelong look. "You have?"

"All good, of course," His mum says worriedly, catching my glance. "When Augustus told us he wanted to bring you to our wedding we were – to say the least – surprised. We were expecting Isaac or one of his college friends-"

"She _is_ a college friend, Mum." Augustus groans.

His dad finally speaks and I suddenly understand where Gus has inherited his trademark smirk from. His dad looks humorous as he shakes his son's hand.

"How're you doing, son?" He asks. "Get laid recently?"

For the second time in as many minutes, my jaw hits the floor, heat flooding my cheeks.

Augustus grins and punches his dad on the shoulder, ducking out of his father's swinging arm. I want the floor to swallow me up.

Mum takes that amazing moment to enter the kitchen. For what must be the first time, I'm grateful for her intervention. She introduces herself to Augustus' parents, and it's a round of shaking hands and kissing cheeks and _I'm starting to feel a little stifled in here._

"I know I wasn't invited to come." Mum says apologetically. "But I didn't want to deny Hazel the chance to come and she can't without parental supervision. She needs someone who's knowledgeable about her disease to be with her, just in case something goes wrong."

Augustus' dad nods, all trace of humour leaving his face. "Mrs. Lancaster, we understand completely. We had a daughter ourselves who suffered from Adenocarcinoma-"

"But I guess she's lucky because she no longer suffers from personhood."

Both Augustus' parents and Mum stare at Augustus, shock lining their features.

"Honey, how can you say that?" His mum asks, biting her lip. I can't tell if there are tears in her eyes or if it's the lighting.

"Death is a side effect of living. To suffer from personhood is the worse suffering." Augustus pinches the bridge of his nose and I think he's trying hard not to shout or cry or rage. "I'm going downstairs. Hazel Grace?" He holds out his hand and I take it, smiling apologetically at Augustus' parents before following Gus out of the kitchen.

"Augustus?" I murmur. When he doesn't respond, I say, "Okay?"

"Okay." He confirms. He lets out a long breath. "I just wish they would stop talking about Martha and how tragic it is for her to have died. It's sad – it kills me every time I think of it – but I remember how she clutched so fruitlessly at a life she hated, how she wanted so badly to beat death when she loathed the life she was living. It's not so awful to say: she died not of cancer, Hazel Grace, not of lack of treatment from death, but that her cancer treated her from life."

It's funny, really, how society depicts teenagers to be vapid and senseless and cruel and shallow. We're a distorted image of everything that is wrong with this world, a scapegoat for what humanity can't profess as their own mistakes. Mostly it makes me sad, but at this moment, I am angry. I am angry that the inhabitants of an earth we only borrow cannot see Augustus Waters right now. Cannot see this pitiable image of a boy who lost his sister to cancer, yet understands that she was never really his to lose to begin with. Cannot see that this teenager thinks and feels emotions that are more profound than those any fully-fledged human can claim. Most of all, I am sad that the society will never educate themselves on Augustus Waters' outlook, that they persistently do everything they can to escape death when really, death is just the beginning of that which we call peace.

* * *

'Downstairs' appears to be a basement converted into Augustus' bedroom. It's homely, like the rest of his house, with a double bed, shelves of basketball trophies and a flat screen television. Gus seems almost ashamed of it when I point it out.

"Mum and Dad went through a phase – when Martha died – of wanting to buy me everything. I stopped them on most things but," He shrugs, "It was their way of compensating the grief. They lost one child so they felt that overwhelming need to care for their other."

"My parents won't have that." I say softly. "My mum is terrified of the day she won't be a mum anymore."

Augustus nods, his eyes never straying from mine. "All parents are parents. Even if they have no children to care for, they will still feel this vast need to care for someone. I'll be there for your parents, if they need that someone."

I squeeze his hand gratefully.

* * *

As our flight doesn't leave until late tonight, Gus and I spend most of the day playing _The Price of Dawn_, curled up on his bed. Everything smells like him. Clean and fresh. I want to lie back and immerse myself in the bedding, take my cannula out so I can smell him more. Instead, I lie in Augustus' lap and he plays with my fingers affectionately.

"Save the children." Augustus commands.

"I'm sorry. That action is unavailable right now." The game tells him.

He rolls his eyes. "Of course it is."

"Pause." I say and the pause menu appears on the screen.

Gus shoots me a quizzical look. "Hazel Grace?" He asks.

"What are those?" I point to his trophies.

His eyes follow my hand and he sighs. "Those are my trophies from basketball."

"I thought you didn't like it anymore."

"I don't." He says, leaning back slightly.

"Then why..."

He shrugs. "They're the only thing that represents my old life." He says quietly. "From before Martha, before I even knew the word Cancer even existed outside of the star sign. They're a symbol of my innocence, before life tainted me."

I get up, kicking back my tank so I can take it with me. I stand on my tiptoes to retrieve a small, bronze trophy. It shows a picture of a basketball player taking a shot.

"This is dated twelve years ago."

"That was my first trophy – I was five when our team won my first game." He holds his hand out and I give it to him. He smooths his thumb over the picture, wiping the layer of dust from it. He stares at it for a long time before he closes his eyes, his fingers curling over the trophy.

"Augustus?" I whisper.

"I should break them."

"Why?" I ask softly.

"Because they're not me anymore." He says, opening his eyes. He looks so broken, so lost that I want to comfort him but I don't think he'll let me. He's a prisoner of his inner tragedies and I have to let him recover from them on his own. "Or I'm not them – whatever. I don't want them."

I nod. "Are you sure?"

I think I understand. I went through something similar last year, when I broke all the Barbie dolls I used to play with. I had this overwhelming urge to destroy the only thing that represented the old me, because I _wasn't_ me anymore.

He grits his teeth, exhaling. "Yes." He confirms. Then he takes the trophy in both hands and snaps it, the muscles in his shoulders and arms tensing as he does so. It's not real bronze, so it cracks easily. I'm surprised to see an element of relief in his eyes as he drops the two pieces and stares up at me.

"Again?" I ask.

He nods, gesturing for me to pass him one. "You can help if you want."

"No." I shake my head. "No, this is just for you."

By the end of the session, hundreds of his trophies are scattered across the floor, broken and shattered. Augustus' chest heaves with the exertion – he had resorted to throwing them across the room, beating them against the floor and hitting them with various hardback books. When no more line his shelves, I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist, my head resting against his chest. He stands there for a moment, unmoving, before he puts his arms around me, his hand resting against the back of my head, his fingers tangled in my hair. I feel him dip his head, his cheek against my forehead. His heart beats rapidly, his breathing quick. There's a light layer of sweat sheening his skin and it's not from the exertion but from the realisation that things change, _people_ change, and we are never the same person we were last year or yesterday or even five seconds ago. People change and the sooner we accept that, the easier it will be on us in the long term.

Augustus' dad knocks on the door.

"Augustus, is everything alright in there?"

He sighs and steps away from me, kicking absently at a trophy piece. "Yeah, you can come in."

Mr. Waters opens the door, and he peers in. "Augustus, it's a mess in here-" He double takes. "Are those your basketball trophies?"

"Yeah." Augustus shrugs. "What's the point in keeping something that symbolises a person whom is not you?"

"The non-you would want to keep the trophies." I say. "But _you_ don't."

Gus' dad looks from his son to me and back to his son again. He sighs, sagging against the doorknob. I know what he is thinking. Why do I have such a thought-provoking, metaphor-seeking son? But I also know that he is thinking that he wouldn't change Augustus. He's already lost his daughter. And when you lose one child, you become so much more accepting of the other.

"Alright, Gus, clear this up." He points to the floor, a frown wrinkling his forehead. "And then you need to pack. We leave in an hour."

"Yeah, okay." Augustus mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. He nods, renewed excitement flashing across his face. "Okay. Fine."

His father nods and shuts the door, leaving us alone.

We stand there, silent, for a moment.

"Come on," I say. "I'll help you clear up."

* * *

The drive to the airport is short because we're not far from the city. Augustus' parents sit in the front and Augustus, Mum and I sit in the back. I'm in the middle, which is kind of awkward because both Mum and Gus demand my attention and I'd much rather have a nap because I am so tired. It isn't long before we arrive. Augustus' parents are completely infatuated with each other, Mum is over-excited, Augustus is thoughtfully quiet and I have a splitting headache.

The flight leaves in two hours, so we have just enough time to check in, grab a coffee, and get to the gate. I feel everyone's eyes on me as I walk next to Augustus, their stares running over my oxygen tank before they avert their gazes. I try to hold my head up high but there are a thousand people in this airport and they are relentless. My look drops to the floor; the oxygen tank handle feels like a hot coal and for some bizarre reason, I feel _guilty_.

Then I just feel angry. I shouldn't feel guilty because I have cancer. That's stupid!

I hear a low growl from Augustus and he shoots glares at the passer-bys, throwing his arm around my shoulders protectively. I am grateful for his presence and I lean into him, appreciating his insightful nature.

The crowd of people waiting at the gate kind of scares me, so I hang back and the Waters family and Mum follow suit. After a while, an attendant comes over. Mum discusses my cancer with her and I'm left feeling _guilty_ again because I require 'special arrangements'. I don't. Not really. I just need to get on the freaking plane.

"Food's up." I hear Augustus murmur in my ear and I turn around. He produces a McDonald's paper bag. I smile as he takes out some fries and a Veggie wrap. "I even checked that the fries were vegetarian so you can eat at peace, knowing you didn't contribute to anymore animal deaths."

"Thank you." I say. "When did you get this?"

"Just now. You were too preoccupied with your mum and the airport attendant to notice I was gone." He takes a large bite from his burger.

I cringe. "Sorry."

He shrugs and I know he doesn't really mind. For some bizarre reason, my eyes fill up with tears. It's funny how the littlest of actions can mean so much to someone. Augustus' thoughtfulness makes me realise just how much I care about him.

Without warning, I hug him. He exclaims in surprise and I know that both our parents are watching and the flight attendant is giving me that weird, sympathetic look, like I'm a puppy that's snuggled up to its owner. But the truth is, I am very very fond of Augustus Waters and I'm terrified of letting him go. So I'm going to take my chances and hold him at every moment I can.

I hear him swallow his mouthful and then he puts his McDonald's down and hugs me back. His hands touch my lower back and the back of my head – a signature Augustus-Waters-move. We're just two people clutching at each other in a world that threatens to tear us apart.

"I'm sorry." I mumble.

"For what?" He asks softly.

"For leaving my mark. I've left my mark on you and I have no regrets and I am sorry for that." I am babbling now, so I just stop talking and press my face in the hollow of his shoulder and inhale him. He is firm, he is here and he is real. For now, that's all I can ask.

* * *

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	16. Touching Bliss

**I am so so sorry that I haven't updated sooner but life is chaos at the moment with exams and holiday plans! So this is a special chapter and I'm sure you guys are going to like it! It's my way of saying sorry for being so terrible at updating! **

**My next update probably won't be until this time next week as I'm on holiday over the next five days and I have no way to update at all! So sorry but it will be worth it! I feel a wedding coming on!**

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"**What a slut time is. She screws everybody."**

* * *

The sun warms my skin as I stand on the beach, burying my toes into the sand. Everything in Dubai is so bright and warm. Only the cool breeze rolling off the sea keeps me in the blazing daylight, the beautiful landscape and the overall exotic aura of Dubai.

The plane journey was long and, if Augustus were not there, I would have grown bored very quickly. As it were, he spent most of the journey bouncing in his seat from excitement. He was like a young boy, innocent and ecstatic.

When he hadn't acted overjoyed, he'd stared out of the window, nudging me every so often to say wondrous things like, "Observation: It would be awesome to fly in a superfast airplane that could chase the sunrise around the world for a while." Or, after a ray of sunlight had blinded me, he'd quoted: "The risen sun too bright in her losing eyes."

I had remembered the quote from An Imperial Affliction, of course. It was impossible not to after I'd spent the last four years reading it over and over again.

After the third hour of being on the plane, I had fallen asleep, my head nestled into Augustus' side, his fingers brushing my shoulder. When I woke again, his head was on top of mine and his steady breathing had indicated he too had succumbed to tiredness.

The ocean is much brighter than the ocean at home, as if the waters are different somehow in substance. It smells better too; cleaner and refreshing.

I sigh and tip my face back, basking in the sunlight. My head aches and my chest twinges with the work of breathing. It's so hot it's almost stuffy and it takes more effort for my lungs to actually draw in breath. It doesn't help that I am suffering from jetlag.

Before I can react, arms twine around my waist and a body presses against mine. I recognise Augustus' unique scent and I lean my head back against his chest. I didn't know he followed me out here. I left him with his parents discussing wedding plans. They were marrying at sunset tomorrow, and the reception was after that. Augustus was best man – his dad really didn't want anyone else for the job when his son was his whole world.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Augustus says now, softly, his arms tightening around me.

"I can't decide what to look at." I admit. "The beach, the city or _that_." I jerk my thumb over my shoulder and turn his arms. "It's so magnificent...what is it?"

"That is Atlantis." Augustus announces. "Famous landmark of Dubai."

It was a cross between a palace and a wall. Curvilinear in shape, the turrets broke through its smooth shape, standing proudly, symmetrically, casting shadows on the beach sands. There was a break in the wall, shaped like a spade but the rest of the landmark was covered in black windows, framed in gold and the walls on the side was shaped in semicircles, more windows lining the sides. It was so big that I had to crane my neck to see the top. It was _beautiful_.

"It's a hotel." Augustus says, resting his chin on my head.

I let out a low whistle. "I bet that's expensive."

"Off the charts." He agrees. "It's prestigious and makes its money on tourists – like us – who have a thirst for that which is grand and empowering. It does give off that sort of aura, doesn't it?"

"It does." I relent. "But...it's not hard to remember that it is really – for all intents and purposes – just a hunk of rock. Nothing is so empowering that it defies its true configuration."

"While I agree, Hazel Grace, I have to protest on the claim that it is just a 'hunk of rock'." I can tell, by the sound of his voice, that if I turned around, he would be wearing his trademark smirk. "I would be willing to bet there's at least some metal in there, too."

"And marble-"

"Lots of marble." He nods. "And real leather so thick that you can hardly touch it."

"I don't find the appeal of hard leather." I tell him. "What's so luxurious about something that's so uncomfortable that you cannot bear to sit on a sofa of it?"

"Right you are, Hazel." He plays with my fingers. "Right you are." He repeats.

* * *

We sit for a while, as the sun sinks lower and lower, almost kissing the horizon at the ocean. Rays of purple and red and orange stretch along the beach and the both of us feel like we're bathing in gold, reclining back on the warm sand. I lie in Augustus' lap, leaning against his chest as we watch the waves tickles the sands of the beach. There are less people on the beach now; they've gone off in search of the Dubai nightlife. Augustus and I prefer the peace of night.

After some time, Augustus becomes restless and begins to bury me in sand. He starts off subtle, covering my bare legs in sand, before suddenly, he moves away from me, causing me to lie back, and begins to throw handfuls over me. I squeal and fight in protest but he pins me down with his weight, laughing and teasing.

"Augustus!" I gasp as a pile of lukewarm sand covers my neck. "Be careful of my cannula!"

"I'm not going to let you suffocate, Hazel Grace." He chuckles and his eyes are only slightly teasing. He's serious, at least. "Trust me."

"I trust you."

He flashes a wicked smile and throws another pile of sand over my chest. My oxygen tank stands beside me, baring witness to Augustus' piteous attempt to bury me alive.

Actually, to give him some credit, he does it well. It's only half an hour before I'm completely covered in sand – aside from my head. My lungs ache from trying to breathe through the weight of sand on my chest but aside from this, I feel completely at peace. That is until Augustus smirks his victorious smile.

"Right." He says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. "I'll just go and tell my parents you got lost and post up missing pictures on the various lamp posts in the city, though it will be a hopeless attempt as we are in a foreign country and people go missing all the time." He winks and my heart somersaults.

"And I will forever be stuck here." I play along. "And no human will ever remember my tales or story and all I will ever be is a statue."

"Only a memory of what used to be a beautiful woman with an unfortunate dish of fate who was, however, fortunate enough to score herself a perfectly good-looking Augustus Waters-"

"You pretentious bastard!" I shout and I wriggle out of this cocoon of sand. He pouts as all his hard work is ruined and I only have two seconds to grab my oxygen tank before I am half-running, half-walking across the sand. I can't run fast – my cancer prevents me – so it's not long before he catches me, wrapping his long arms around me tightly, falling into me slightly. I gasp for air, my lungs crying out for mercy. It's one of those beautiful moments in life when I feel just too happy, too contented, to be resentful towards my lungs for being sucky.

I turn in Augustus arms, surprised to see that he wears no shirt. I spot it over his shoulder, dumped beside the human-shaped sand ditch. I guess it's his way of dealing with the heat – not that I am complaining, of course. Feeling bold, I run my hands over the planes of his chest, my fingers rippling over the natural muscles of his abs. He tenses under my touch, surprised. He's not completely and artificially ripped, but he is _all man_, natural and healthy. And he is beautiful.

"Thank you for letting me hijack your invite." I say quietly, transfixed by him. The blue of his eyes is darker and he sucks in a sharp breath when my fingers graze his lower abdomen, by his belt. I pull back slightly – I'm not _that_ confident – but his hand presses against mine, keeping me there. His head dips slightly, his forehead against mine. He pulls me closer, so close that we are breathing in the same air the other has exhaled. He smells like him, with an underlying scent of warmth, of the sweat produced from the heat. It's completely intoxicating, being this close to him, my hands against his stomach, his arms around me, grazing the skin at the back of my arms.

"Thank you for wearing that dress which is like whoa." He murmurs, his voice deeper than usual, huskier.

I can't hold back. I can't resist him anymore and by the looks in his eyes, he feels the same way. My fingers hook into his waistband and I pull him closer and then we're kissing.

I've waited for this. I've saved all my excitement, all my anticipation for this moment till now. I pour all of my feelings, all of my energy, my emotions into this kiss, my hands trailing up his chest to his neck, pulling him closer to me. He groans slightly and I know he too has been waiting for this. All the lingering, all the delaying was completely futile. But without it, I wouldn't feel this... _magnetism_.

His hand slides up my back, his fingers slipping over my oxygen tubing to tangle in my hair, tipping my face up further to meet him. Our lips, teeth, tongues collide together, a heat of passion so fierce that it takes both of our breath away. He tastes like salt and mint and _boy_. His arms tighten around me as if he wants to pull me even closer, though I can't possibly be closer than I am; my body is pressed against his – I can feel each contour of his limbs, each line of his hard body against mine.

I'm aware of what we must look like; two foreign teenagers – one of them sick – kissing so fervently and passionately that - if I were a bystander, I'd want to look away - on the white sand of the beach outside Atlantis Hotel in Dubai. I feel like this moment lasts forever, but really, it's only a few seconds. A few seconds of complete and utter bliss and happiness, kissing the boy whom I am in love with.

He is the one to pull back first, but he does it just before I was planning to. My lungs gasp for air, air I happily gave Augustus. He stares at me, his blue eyes bright with affection and tenderness. I wrap my arm around his waist and lean into him, my head nestled in the curve of his shoulder, while I catch my breath. His hand reaches up to pull a stray lock of hair from my face and his other arm curves over me, almost protectively, his hand resting against the small of my back.

"What was that?" He breathes, also out of breath.

"My forfeit."

He chuckles and the sound reverberates in his stomach, jostling me slightly. I giggle too. And then we're both hysterically laughing, clutching at each other despite the heat, bathing in our after-kiss paradise.

He breaks the laughter by touching my cheek, his knuckles grazing against my skin. My eyelids shut, my lashes brushing against my blushing cheekbones.

He speaks. "Okay?"

I smile, content. "Okay."

* * *

We lay on the beach for the evening, as the sun sinks beneath the ocean and the stars blink into sight. Augustus has pulled his top back on and I lean on my elbow, facing him, as I fiddle with the hem absently. Even though the sun has gone down, the evening is still warm, the after-glow of Dubai's heat cooling slightly. The night life awakens, Atlantis Hotel flashing with club lights, the roar of music and cars and laughter echoing far behind us, in the heart of the city. Some party-goers run onto the beach, splashing into the nearby sea drunkenly. They don't bother us and we don't bother them; actually, it's kind of fun to watch them.

Augustus' fingers trail down my arm, an inattentive gesture.

"How long has it been since you've been in the sea?"

I sigh. "Gus, I can't go in the sea. I can't let my cannula get wet." I say quietly. "I can't take it off for too long – you saw me after Isaac's fight all that time ago. I can't risk it."

"I'm not asking you to." He reassures me. "I would never ask that of you. I just wondered."

I am quiet for a moment. "I was diagnosed with stage IV thyroid cancer when I was thirteen and Dad never liked me to venture too far down the beach. So...I would guess I was ten when I last played in the sea. With Mum. Dad was at work." I smile at the memory, my eyes watering slightly.

He pushes me off him – not too gently, either – and stands up with a natural grace that I could never possess. As it is, I slump to the grown, grunting.

"Hey!" I protest, disgruntled.

He holds his hand out to me. "Come on."

I look at him and then out to sea. The tide is coming in, but not so quickly that our time here is threatened. "Gus, I can't. No way."

"Do you trust me?"

"Of course I do." I roll my eyes. I've said that already today.

"Put your tank on your back."

I shoot him a quizzical look but do as he says, sliding my arms in the straps of the oxygen tank. I almost never wear it like this – it makes me feel more obvious, like I stand out more.

Augustus smiles and takes my hand. We walk together towards the sea. If I was to watch this night in a movie, I would have called it tasteless and cheesy but with Augustus, it isn't. He makes me feel happy and loved and content and lucky and beautiful and special. He makes me feel _alive_ in ways others never could.

We reach the verge of the sea. The sand is damp beneath my bare feet and the white foam of the sea caresses my toes. I curl them, gasping at the cold. I glance up at Augustus who is watching me with an affectionate smirk on his face.

"It's freezing." I tell him. "I've forgotten how cold the sea is."

He looks outward, his blue eyes – darkened by the night sky to a dark grey – sweeping the calm ocean. "It's not that cold when you're in it."

"When I'm in-" I start but I am interrupted when he sweeps me up into his arms. I scream, shocked, and he only laughs.

"Put me down!" I shout.

He doesn't move. He just holds me, clutching me close to his chest. "Think of it as a trust exercise."

"Gus, no!"

He gazes at me, and I am shocked by the sudden vulnerability that crosses his eyes. "I am never going to let you go. I'll never let you fall, Hazel Grace."

I stare at him, completely silenced by his words. Unfortunately, he takes that for assent and begins to move into the sea.

"Augustus, if you drop me..." I say but I shake my head. "My oxygen tubing-"

"Is completely safe and dry, on your back." He says.

"Why are we even doing this?"

"Because I think it's totally unfair for someone to die without enjoying the simpler pleasures of life." He tells me. "You can't let your cancer dictate what you do and don't do. I won't let your equipment get wet but I won't sit on that beach and watch you glance longingly at the sea any longer, either. I'm doing this for you because I know you won't do it for yourself."

He wades into the water and I watch as it rises against him. He walks further and further into the water, with me in his arms, the water rising over his thighs. I am just about to say something when he stops.

"Don't flail." He says quietly. "Don't go to pieces and you'll stay dry. Okay?"

"Okay."

He smiles, a full genuine, crooked grin that spreads over his face. "Relax, then."

It goes against my instincts, my entire sense of self-preservation but I do. I relax in his arms, my muscles unwinding. He feels it and I see relief cross his eyes. Relief and pleasure.

"You really do trust me." He breathes.

"I wasn't lying." I tell him.

He nods and then stands me up. I gasp as the cold of the water bites into my legs and start to feel the first tendrils of panic when the water reaches my hips, barely grazing the bottom of my tank. But it stops there and I am _standing in the sea. _I push my dress skirt down- it's inflated with water- grateful for having the incentive to wear shorts underneath it. Gus doesn't look. His eyes are on my face, watching my reaction.

"I never believed I'd ever do this again." I laugh, staring out at the sea. The cold is bearable now, the water lapping against the tops of my thighs. "Thank you." I breathe.

His hand touches my elbow and I turn to him. He says nothing, but his thumb reaches up to my cheek, wiping a tear away. I didn't even know I was crying.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you, Hazel Grace." He whispers, his voice cracking slightly. "And that terrifies me."

I touch his cheek and lean into him, taking comfort in his scent, his entire presence. Moonlight shines, illuminating the two of us until I am sure that, if the party-goers on the beach were to look out, we'd be just two silhouettes, held in a loving embrace.

His lips touch mine and it is a soothing kiss. It's a kiss that promises forever, tasting like glory and fire and passion. My mouth opens against his and we clutch at each other, desperation and sadness and happiness and yearning pouring into our kiss until the both of us are out of breath. I am completely and irreversibly in love with Augustus Waters. I don't know what I'd do without his smile, his easy, sarcastic remarks, his loving, steady presence in my life. I am in love with him and I know that now there is no going back.

Despite my pleasure, the heavenly glow roaring within me, I know that soon it is going to end. Soon my blazing fire of happiness will be doused, my bubble of contentment burst, and there will be nothing but darkness for the both of us.

Sometimes I wonder what we're getting ourselves into. Then I remember that I really didn't have much choice. I can't unlove Augustus Waters and I know he can't leave me either.

"_I am never going to let you go. I'll never let you fall, Hazel Grace."_

As I kiss him and hold him and unwind at his touch, I realise numbly that that is probably the first time Augustus Waters has ever lied to me.

I'm already falling. One day, he's going to have to let me go.

* * *

**Please review and let me know what you think! I'll update as soon as I can!**


	17. Dangerous Games

**So, I managed to find time to update before I go on holiday. So here's another chapter. I've had to hold back the wedding by one chapter for this. I hope you like it! Another update will come some time next week!**

**Enjoy reading it and please please review because I really love hearing your predictions, thoughts and comments. **

"**That was the worst part about having cancer, sometimes: The physical evidence of disease separates you from other people."**

* * *

The hustle and bustle of the next day takes me completely by surprise. Mum is nowhere to be seen; she's dedicated all her time to helping the Waters' family with the wedding set up – apparently, Augustus' parents do not want to see the decorations until they are due to be married.

They decided to get married in a hotel. Not something as prestigious and expensive as the Atlantis Hotel, but not something too shabby either. They've gone for classy and affordable and I respect them for it.

It is difficult to gain Gus' attention throughout the day. We cross each other's paths in the hallway of the hotel in which say, sliding each other covert glances and secret smiles, but we do not actually speak. After a while, I grow bored of sitting in my room rereading An Imperial Affliction and decide to venture out instead.

I don't go far; I don't forget that we are in a foreign country and that I am completely alone. But I do stroll down nearby streets. The famous Dubai Mall is nearby and I take a peek inside.

The first thing I notice is the people. There are so many freaking people. It is completely overcrowded, a mixture of races, genders and ages milling the shops. As I turn into the nearest shop – a fashion store – I hear several different languages, some harsh and abrupt and others utterly beautiful and eloquent. I wish I could speak in such beautiful tongues. There's something so exotic about being able to speak another language.

I find it ironic that the first shop I enter whilst in Dubai is, actually, Italian. La Perla, the famous lingerie store opens before me and my sight is invaded by beautifully shaped mannequins wearing beautifully sewn undies. I feel inadequate compared to the other shoppers – they are all of supermodel attractiveness and I am just me. A potato.

Nonetheless, I refuse to be deterred or scared off. I make my movement look completely natural as I wander into the nearest aisle, my eyes scanning the hangings with what I hope is a critical eye. I want to buy something here. I want to feel beautiful underneath, feel like a real woman. I blush slightly, thinking of Augustus. What if? I've never really given it much thought but what if we slept together?

I shake my head. I'm overthinking. Augustus and I only shared our first kiss last night and now I'm thinking of the ultimate experience. Besides, I don't even know if he would ever want to go _there_ with me. The thought makes me feel slightly depressed but also more determined to buy something here. I don't live my life based on what ifs. If I want something, I won't be deterred by inadequacies and ifs.

I am all too aware of the other women in here. They eye me with a measure of disdain and sympathy. They stare at my cannula, which makes me feel like I have something between my teeth, or a massive wart on my nose, and they tut when I pick up scanty pale blue panties as if to say, _'She's wallowing in self-pity. Who could she possibly have to see her in those?'_

It makes me mad but I'm used to this at home. Sure, I'm in Dubai, where I want to be a completely different person, lead a new life, just for a few days, but that doesn't mean I'm not used to their hurtful gazes. I slide my glance over them and they avert their eyes. I smile victoriously. _I win._

I check the price tag and swallow. It's expensive but not so bad that I can't afford it. I have money saved up that Dad calls 'Future funds'. Except he and I have both accepted I kind of have no future.

"You'll be proud, Dad." I whisper, almost as if I am convincing myself. "One day, you'll appreciate my life choices. Even if it means your daughter may not always be boyfriendless."

I pick up the matching bra and drag my oxygen tank to the counter. The cashier seems to expect me to put the products down at any moment but I don't. I stare at her, as if challenging her to mention my disease. She doesn't. It isn't long before I'm out of the shop.

I swing the bag in my hand subconsciously, overjoyed with my purchase. I wander around the Mall, surprised to see that a lot of the shops here are similar to the ones at home. I guess they do have a lot of tourists come here. I see WH Smith and I smile like I'm greeting an old friend.

I hunt for the 'New Releases' shelf and it's not long before I find it. I can navigate book shops like the back of my hand; I've spent my life searching them over and over again, as if another book will magically appear on the shelf I just searched two minutes beforehand. I feel a shoot of pleasure in me at the sight of An Imperial Affliction. According to the charts, it's number one. It's been out for three years. I'm happy that it's finally got the attention it deserves, that other people are enjoying the story that has sustained me for so long.

A book attendant approaches me. She says something in a foreign language and I shake my head, non-comprehensive. "I don't understand. I speak English." I say.

Understanding dawns in her eyes and instantly she switches languages. I raise my eyebrows, half-surprised, half-envious. I wish I could do that.

"I asked if there was anything you are looking for this afternoon." She says, her English slightly warped with her accent but understandable all the same.

"Something new." I tell her. "I've read most of what lines your shelves."

She pauses, processing – and translating – my words. "I see." She says. She points to a book. "This came in yesterday. It is about…demons and hunters of the shadows."

Interest spiked, I pick up the book. The cover is, by all means, beautiful. It is funny really. I am in Dubai yet the books sold in this shop are English. How many tourists come here? I read the blurb and nod, satisfied.

"Thank you for your help." I tell her, smiling appreciatively. "I would like to buy this, please."

She beams and takes the book from me, walking around the counter to scan it in. I follow her. She hands me coupons and says, "I am sorry for your illness. I hope you will outlive it."

"Me too." I tell her sadly, thinking of Augustus. I remember his blue eyes, twinkling with mirth and affection. My chest tightens. "But I won't. Unfortunately."

"That is sad." She says as she takes my money.

"So is this: I could say I am sorry for your life. I hope that you will outlive it but I know that you won't. We all die eventually."

She is quiet for a moment and I have the impression she is trying to understand my English words. Finally, she says, "That is a very negative outlook."

"No, you misunderstand." I say. "We are all dying anyway, of life. So take every opportunity, every moment you can and cherish it. I am dying anyway, of cancer, so I too am going to take every single chance I can get."

She hands me my receipt. "You are a very brave…inspirational lady."

I smile but it feels false. "Thanks."

"Have a good day." She says and I nod and turn away.

I am not brave. I am not inspirational. I am just the picture of a selfish girl who is too weak to go through death alone. What's so great about that?

* * *

Mood officially ruined, I start my journey home. I take a different way and now, with bags in my hand – the evidence of money in my pocket – I am swarmed by street sellers and beggars and advertisers. They push useless products in my arms and demand money in return. Their voices warp around my head: 'Beautiful lady, perfect woman, spare some change…" or "Just forty dirham, ma'am."

"I don't have that sort of money." I tell him, turning away. I only bump into someone else. I step out of his reach hastily.

They swarm me, some of them nudging my oxygen tubing. I don't know if they do it accidentally or if they have more sinister motivations but my breathing becomes hindered anyway and my lungs start to ache as my chest twinges with the pain that comes with not inhaling enough oxygen. I'm panicking. I'm panicking.

"Oi!" Someone shouts. "_Leave her alone!_ Leave her alone or I will make sure you don't have hands to sell your worthless shit with."

The effect is instantaneous. They instantly back away, eyeing the other person fearfully. I can't see who they are yet, but the voice is certainly unfamiliar. I don't know them.

When the crowd is gone, I stop struggling, straightening my cannula. I can see my helper now. He is tanned with dark hair but his eyes are a familiar shade of blue. He's tall and broad shouldered, intimidating. He walks towards me with the aura of someone who is used to power, used to getting their own way. Instinctively, I take a step back.

"Who are you?" I ask, my voice wobbling only slightly – almost undetectable.

He smirks and I am suddenly reminded of Augustus. "_I_ saved _you_. I get to ask the questions, here."

I cringe. "Okay."

"What's your name?"

"Hazel Grace Lancaster."

"Thought so." He says and he touches my arm, apparently concerned. "You're Augustus Waters' friend, aren't you? His plus one."

"Yes." I don't really know what to say to him.

"He's my cousin." He says and he holds out his hand. I shake it. "My name is Zac."

"Okay." His intense stare is starting to make me feel uncomfortable now and I look away.

"Aren't you going to thank me for helping you?" He asks, half-annoyed, half-amused.

I glance at him. "I didn't need your help."

He snorts. "Didn't look like it to me. It looked like you were being smothered to death."

"I _didn't_ need your help." I reiterate. "Jesus, are all the Waters as arrogant as Augustus and you?"

He blinks but doesn't seem hurt by the comment. "Wow. Gus said you were stubborn and blunt but I didn't realise quite how much he was telling the truth."

"Augustus has talked about me?" I can't help the words that slip out of my lips.

"Sure." Zac's chin lifts as he realises he has knowledge that I want.

"What did he _say_?"

"Uh-uh." Zac shakes his head, his blue eyes scanning me. Upon closer inspection, I realise his eyes aren't exactly like Gus'. They're colder somehow, more detached and flecked with grey. "I won't tell you anything until you admit that I saved your ass and thank me."

I gape. Is it possible that this person could be even cockier than Augustus? Quickly, I close my mouth and shrug. "Fine. I'll just go ahead and ask him. He won't feel the need to _bribe_ me for my appreciation. Now if you'll excuse me…"

Dragging my oxygen tank, I make for a dramatic, stormy exit. Obviously, being me, this doesn't all go entirely to plan. Of course, he is faster than me, and he is bigger also.

"Not so fast." He steps in front of me. His eyes are drawn to my cannula and his lips part. "How long do you have left?"

"Why do you care?" I snap.

He laughs but his eyes flash with annoyance. Something tells me there is more to this Zac than he is giving off. "Because I care if someone lives or dies. Especially girls like you."

"Like me?" I raise my eyebrows, disbelief crossing through me. "What's _that_ supposed to mean? You don't even know me."

I go to walk on but he blocks my path again. "What's in the bag?"

My eyes follow his, to the La Perla bag. I can't help the blush that spreads over my face. "Nothing that concerns you."

"I saw lace." He announces. "Let me guess. For Augustus, right? He's one lucky guy."

I flush further. "No." I growl. "Not for Augustus. For _me_."

"You're a narcissist?" He pouts, the blue in his eyes flaring. "Shame, that."

The way he says that makes me shiver. There's something _off_ about this guy. "No. I…Can't you just leave me alone?"

"No." He touches his chin, eyeing me carefully, his gaze analytical, stony.

"Why not? We're strangers. You could be an axe-murderer."

"This could be true." He says evenly but his lips curve into a twisted smirk. "Let's not be strangers. Let me get to know you."

Okay, I am super weirded out by this guy. "Um…any other time, maybe. But now I should get back. I have a wedding to get ready for and Gus is waiting for me."

For a moment, it looks like he is going to protest. There's something cold and unforgiving in his blue eyes. Predatory. It makes my skin crawl. But then, after a second's hesitation, he steps aside, allowing me the path.

"I'll walk you back."

"That won't be necessary." I tell him.

"I may as well since we're headed in the same direction."

Damn. I can't exactly talk myself out of this one. "Fine." I say, but I don't talk all the way back. He doesn't either, but I catch him staring at me every so often, out of the corner of my eye. It's not a nice feeling. There's something possessive in his look, something so greedy that I regret this whole occurrence, wishing it had never happened. His pale blue eyes roam my body and I try my best to turn away. I feel vulnerable beside him, unprotected. I feel disturbed.

* * *

Not too soon, we reach the hotel. I want to dash up the stairs to my room, to get as far away from Zac as possible but alas, of course my cancer denies me the wish. Instead, I am stuck with Zac for a few moments more.

"Let me walk me to your room." His eyes flash, a confident smirk on his face.

"No." I say and I am surprised by how cold my tone is. "I can get there on my own, thanks."

"Please, I insist." His tone really gives me no choice. Either he will escort me or follow me. That is the proposition he offers, hidden beneath his words. Tendrils of panic start to awaken within me. What can I do?

An idea forms in my mind. "Alright."

He walks beside me as I lead him up the hallway. When we reach the correct door, I knock.

"I thought you said this was your room." He says quietly. I detect a note of danger in his voice and swallow.

"I share it with Mum." I say. "She has the only key."

He seems to accept my words. Even talk of my mother doesn't seem to scare him off. What is up with this guy?

To my complete and utter relief, Augustus answers the door. He's half dressed – in just a pair of jeans, hung low on his hips. His hair is tousled and his eyes swirl with confusion when he sees me.

"Hazel Grace?"

I step quickly into his room, almost yanking my tank in with me. Augustus watches me and then glances back out into the hallway. His body moves to block the doorway and the muscles in his shoulders and back tense.

"Zac." He says and his voice is cold, colder than I have ever heard it before. "What are you doing here?"

"I was invited to this wedding, as were you, cousin." Zac seems to openly sneer at Gus. "You'll want to thank me."

"I probably don't." Augustus says.

"I just saved your girlfriend from being mugged."

He glances back towards me, his eyes scanning me concernedly. He's checking for injuries. I spread my hands to show I'm okay and glance at Zac worriedly.

Gus returns his attention to Zac. "Thank you." He seems to grunt. "But now I think it's time to leave."

"You can't kick me out of a room that isn't yours." He seems to smile but it's too sadistic, too menacing to be real.

"What-" Gus starts.

"Leave." I interrupt. "Now."

When Zac doesn't move, Augustus speaks, his voice like ice. "You heard her. Leave."

"All in good grace, cousin, all in good grace."

He leans forward slightly and whispers something. Augustus tenses and growls at him. "_Get out_."

Zac leers knowingly and steps back over the threshold, his hands held up in a peace gesture. "Whatever, Waters. See you at the altar." He winks, his eyes cold, and Augustus slams the door in his face.

We don't say anything as he peeks through the eyehole. He holds his hand up to me, warning me to stay quiet. After a moment, Augustus sags, his forehead against the door. "I was hoping you wouldn't have to meet him."

"Really?" I exhale. "Because I was just thinking how wonderful a person he is and how someone could _not_ want to meet him."

Gus glances at me, his lip half-curved upwards. The smile didn't reach his eyes. "Your sarcasm becomes you, Hazel Grace."

"My sarcasm…" I take a deep breath. "_Who was he, Gus?_ What did he want from me? Why wouldn't he leave me alone?"

"He's my Mum's nephew." Augustus says, standing up to come over to me. "He's my cousin."

"You hate each other."

"That's true." Augustus agrees.

"Why – if it isn't obvious?" I ask, intrigued.

"He killed my best friend."

I gape. "What?"

"He was dating her for a while. Her name was Caroline. We were best friends up until two years ago. Zac took her and a bunch of other friends out to a club. He was sober and driving. He wrapped that car around a tree. Killed all the people in it – Killed Caroline instantly – except him."

I stare at him in shock. "They didn't arrest him for dangerous driving?"

"No." He says. "He was bashed up pretty bad himself and he was sober. He claimed he swerved because a lorry came round the corner too fast. So he was only fined."

"Maybe it's true, Augustus. Maybe it was an accident."

"It wasn't an accident." He says softly. "Two months later, I got in a fight with him. He told me – admitted right there and then – that he hoped she was dead. That he hated her. That after he crashed the car, he wanted her to be dead."

I let my breath out. "Oh my God."

"There's no evidence, of course. Nothing." Augustus runs a hand through his tousled hair. "I miss Caroline. But worst of all, I hate the fact that he could have been punished and wasn't. And then he turns up with you on my doorstep…" He shakes his head. "Avoid him, Hazel." He begs, his tone pleading. "He's dangerous and he'd do anything to hurt me. If he hurt you…" He shakes his head. "Don't go near him. Avoid him at all costs, okay?"

"Okay." I promise. "I don't want to see him anyway. He scared me."

Gus nods. "He'd do anything to hurt me, Hazel." He repeats, his voice breaking slightly. "If anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself." He kneels beside the bed, his hands on my knees. He kisses me lightly, barely, and strokes my hair, pain in his eyes.

"I need to get ready for the wedding." I say.

"I'll walk you back." He says. "I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving your side now. You're not safe anymore."

His words scare me almost as much as Zac did. _I'm no longer safe._

As we walk across the empty hallway, I remember something. "Augustus, what did he say?"

"When?"

"What did Zac say when he whispered to you before he left?"

Augustus licks his lips and turns away, his face shutting down. He doesn't want to tell me, the anger in his posture tells me that.

"Augustus, please don't lie to me." I say softly. "Even by omission."

"He said you bought lingerie and…if he ever came across the opportunity, he'd put it to good use. On you. With him. He said he liked his women unwilling."

I suck in a sharp breath, too shocked to feel embarrassed. Panic writhes within me, under my blood, setting off a pounding in my head.

Augustus' words echo in my mind again.

_You're not safe anymore._

* * *

**Please review! Let me know what you think! **


	18. Elation and Lust

**_YOU NEED TO READ THIS AUTHOR'S NOTE!_**

**HELLOOOOO**

**This is a really long chapter, but you're going to like it...I think...Maybe. I hope. Yeah, you'll see.**

**So this chapter is rated M – if that doesn't tell you what's going to happen, then I don't know what will. I repeat: THERE ARE PARTS IN THIS CHAPTER RATED M. It is ONLY suitable for mature audiences. HOWEVER, you can read right up to my next author's note – that is still of the fic's T rating. I'll give another warning when it gets M rated.**

**You may also want to take note that if you choose not to read the M-rated stuff, you'll need to scroll down to my next author's note because important stuff happens regarding the overall plot after the juicy stuff that you'll need to read for the next chapter to make sense. SO DON'T JUST LEAVE THE CHAPTER, SCROLL TO THE NEXT PART.**

**Okay! So, enjoy! Review and tell me what you think!**

"**The marks humans leave are too often scars."**

* * *

As I sit in a chair, the late afternoon sun burning through the glass windows of the hotel, I take the opportunity to admire Augustus Waters.

He stands off to the side of the dais, a ray of sunlight shining through the glass to light his mahogany hair to a soft brown. He's dressed in a black and white suit, a cream rose in his right pocket. A burgundy tie cuts through his pristine shirt – one of the colours of the wedding. He plays with his sleeves nervously as though _he_ is the one getting married. But when I see him glance at his parents, I know he is only anxious for them, though I have no idea why. Mr. Waters and his fiancée are truly head over heels for each other, sharing a love I can only be envious of.

Next to me, Mum coos as she admires her surroundings, despite being the one to help set up, complimenting the cream sashes of silk as they harmonise the crossing burgundy ones. Each chair is dressed in the same deep red garments, dressed with cream bouquets and ribbons. The lights are dim, but not shaded, the massive golden chandelier sparkling over the dais, where Augustus' parents will speak their vows.

It's beautiful but in a sad way. It only serves as a reminder, for me, that I will never have this. I will never have this limitless, unending happiness. I will never have someone love me so much that they want to marry me, never have someone wait at the end of the aisle for me. I will most probably never marry at all.

Augustus glances up at his father and their share a few words. Gus slaps a hand over his dad's shoulder and in response, Mr. Waters touches Augustus' neck, his thumb tracing his son's jaw bone. Dad looks at me like this often. It's the unconditional love a parent has for his child. It's tangible and exquisite. Augustus' blue eyes seem brighter, filmed with moisture as he stares at his dad. It is one of those moments where I truly get to see pure Augustus, untainted by his own sarcasm or witty arrogance. It's Augustus showing the love he has for his parents, innocent and chaste.

I hear a low chuckle behind me and I turn around.

Zac Waters sits behind me, his fingers splayed over the back of my chair, almost possessively. He meets my gaze and smirks, a slow, predatory leer. His grey eyes flare cunningly and I swallow.

"Hazel Grace Lancaster." He nods and his voice is a purr of pretended charm, of false affection. I know what he is doing; he is putting on a sham act of charisma for my mother who listen in, though she pretends she doesn't.

"This is my chair." It's all I can think to say in the fear that shoots through me at the sight of him. I feel uneasy and uncomfortable, especially with my mum nearby. "So," I swallow. "If you would..." I wave my hands at him, motioning for him to sit back. His lifts his hands up, adopting an innocent expression.

"Of course." He murmurs, the stupid smirk still on his face.

I turn back around, trying to ignore the prickles of fear that shiver down my spine.

It isn't long before his voice is in my ear, and his breath is hot against my cheek. "Look at him," He says, his eyes on Augustus. "Bless the sweet, little boy; crying over his parents' wedding. So _cute_."

I grit my teeth, trying to pretend as though his slow, mocking voice doesn't irritate – and scare - me. "Augustus is _twice_ the man you are." I hiss.

"So you say." He sneers. "I disagree."

"I never asked your opinion." I turn to face the front again.

Augustus and his father share another short conversation and Gus nods reassuringly, his smile kind. The music begins and his father takes up his position, his back to the aisle, his eyes on the vicar before him. In the moment before his mother enters, Augustus' eyes flicker up to meet mine and I see a ghost of a smile wind at his lips before his gaze slips over my shoulder and he scowls, the blue in his eyes darkening to almost black as his face clouds with anger.

"Oooh," Zac whispers, his voice throaty. "Looks like I'm in trouble with the cute, little boy."

"Stop that." I snarl.

"Stop what?"

"Calling him that."

But his grin only widens, flashing a chipped tooth, before he sits back. The crowd of friends and relatives coo and gasp as Augustus' mother makes her entrance, striding carefully but purposely down the aisle. She wears a fitted, cream dress that fits her small frame before it flares out at the waist, clean and sleek. Burgundy coils and twirls curl up the skirt, complemented by the burgundy bouquet she clutches in her hands. She doesn't wear a veil, but her hair – a halo of blonde– is dotted with silver sparkles and spirals suspended by silver droplets. A small tiara – barely a band – sits on her crown, delicate and beautiful. There are tears in her blue eyes, tears of joy.

The love that fizzles between them when Augustus' father turns around is perceptible and I remember Gus telling me once that despite being together for almost twenty years, their love is just the same as it was five or ten years ago. Everlasting and unbroken.

Augustus watches his mother, a proud expression on his face. He laughs as two bridesmaids – his father's two-year-old nieces – gurgle and babble as they stumble up the aisle after his mother, following her train, their hands clutching at air as they desperately try to get a hold of the dress.

Augustus glances at me again and winks. I try to smile back but I can't help noticing the difference in his expression since last time. He was carefree before, now his eyes are riddled with the past's pain and worry for me. I have a feeling he's going to watch me all day.

There are prayers and sermons and other tying words from the priest and the Gods and fate and more religious stuff that I don't really care for. I'm too absorbed by the beauty of the ceremony, by the heartbreaking knowledge that I am never going to experience it for myself.

They speak their vows, their eyes never straying from each other and Gus hands his father the rings, touching a hand to his mother's cheek. She smiles lovingly at her son before he steps back again.

They exchange rings and kiss. I always feel slightly awkward at this part. I avert my eyes.

"Nervous, are we?" Zac murmurs behind me. Until now, he's mercifully been silent. I scowl at him and he only laughs. "Still sticking to the kids Disney movies, right? Let me tell you something, little girl, the internet holds so much more."

My cheeks flame with embarrassment at his unspoken suggestion but I ignore him.

"It's true," He goes on, his voice so low that even my mum can't hear him. "I could show you if you want...and then we could _practice_ together."

I give a disgusted snort and move my chair away from his prying hand, my cheeks still red hot. The scrape of the chair on the laminated flooring makes Gus look up and he scowls again, fury churning in his gaze. I've never seen him so angry. My heart flips and I actually feel a shred of sympathy for Zac before I remember what he did to Caroline, to Gus. My shred of compassion becomes revulsion and I shiver again, feeling Zac's heavy gaze pierce into the back of my head.

Not a moment too soon, the newlywed Mr. and Mrs. Waters are walking back down the aisle, hand in hand, happiness glowing from the both of them. The guests throw confetti and flowers, rice and petals, cheering with joy, wishing their luck to the couple.

As soon as it is acceptable to do so, I lunge out of my seat under the pretence of wanting to see Augustus, desperate to get away from Zac. He knows it, too, because when I look over my shoulder, he stares at me, a manic, rapacious sneer twisting at his lips. My heart jumps in my throat and I quickly look away.

Unsurprisingly, Augustus waits for me at the end of my row. After apologising to the lady on the end, I step over her and take Gus' arm. She only shushes me and hurries me along, smiling kindly at Augustus.

* * *

Augustus says nothing to me as we leave the hotel. We step outside, into the cool Dubai evening. We were in the ceremony for a couple of hours and the sun is beginning to set. The reception starts in an hour.

"You look beautiful, Hazel Grace." He says after a while as we walk to the venue. It's a small walk – ten minutes long. The wedding party travel as a group, talking and gossiping, following the horse and cart that takes the Waters. "That dress..."

I smile, pleasure shooting up my spine. I'm wearing a pale blue, knee-length dress and I feel more attractive, armed with the knowledge of the lingerie that lies beneath.

"You too." I say and I am surprised at how dry my mouth has become. "You look...striking in that suit. It brings out the blue of your eyes."

"Striking?" He smirks, eyeing me playfully. "Attractive, perhaps?"

I bite my lip, trying to fight the laugh that escapes my throat. "I _always_ find you attractive."

He pats my hand affectionately. "Good to know." He says but then his eyes grow serious. "I thought I asked you to avoid Zac."

"I tried." I tell him. "But he sat by me. I don't want to raise my mum's suspicions by moving, else they won't let me out for the rest of the time we spend here."

He nods. "Was he awful?"

I make a face. "Aside from some inappropriate comments and revolting insinuations, he didn't say much to me."

His face darkens. "I'll kill him if he hurts you."

The venom in his voice scares me slightly. "Augustus," I say, adopting a smile. But it feels fake, and Augustus sees through it. "We're at a wedding. Now is not the time to linger on such morbid thoughts."

He throws his arm over my shoulder, the movement made stiff by the material of his suit. "You're right. Now is the time to linger on thoughts of my incredibly gorgeous girlfriend. Now is the time to linger on fantasies of time spent alone. Now is the time to linger on thoughts of kissing you." He pulls me out of the crowd of wedding guests and into his arms, his lips brushing mine carefully, softly. My blood sings in my veins, ignited by his touch, by the scent of him, the taste of his lips against mine.

"Sweet talker." I accuse and he touches my nose, chuckling. I can't help but play his words over and over again in my head. _Girlfriend, girlfriend, girlfriend._

"I never claimed I wasn't completely enticing."

"_Enticing_." I try the word out and make a face. "That's not the right word for you."

"No?"

"Try arrogant, persuasive, determined and stubborn." I laugh.

"And completely and utterly enthralling, captivating and tempting." He finishes, not missing a beat.

I roll my eyes but play along. "Yes, that too."

He laughs and kisses me again. His lips taste sweet and salty, and I bite back the moan that rises in my throat. I want him.

"We have an audience, Hazel Grace." He smirks, his voice mocking. I look down and realise that I have gripped onto his shirt a little too tightly and it's become untucked from his trousers, flashing the tanned, smooth skin of his hips. I step back and blush.

The rest of the group are still walking, but some glance at us, smiling as though we're just adorable children or puppies. I bite my lip. "Sorry." I say.

Gus' hand touches the small of my back, his fingers grazing my skin over the low hem of the dress. I felt a little hesitant when choosing this dress. It does show a lot of skin at the back, the hem cut to the base of my spine. "Come on." He says, and there's a hitch in his voice as he tries to look away from my bared skin. My cheeks redden further and I touch his face. His eyes meet mine and I'm surprised to see a flush in his cheeks, too. Pink and warm.

He takes my hand and we walk to the reception venue.

* * *

We stop outside a grand hall which stands opposite the tall and imposing Burj Khalifa. I crane my neck to stare at the landmark, my breath stolen from me. Literally. It's beautiful. Though at first it resembles a tower made of pipe cleaners, upon closer inspection it is completely astounding. I can't see the point; it's hidden beneath the clouds of the evening and the silver of the tower is offset by the red, orange, pink and lilac rays of sunlight, shining from the sun as it dips to the horizon. I've never seen anything like it. It's the centre-point of the city, the very first thing you see no matter what street you walk. I wonder idly what it looks like from above. Does it still have the same dramatic, magnificent effect?

Reluctantly, I leave the Dubai streets and enter the reception hall, guided by the hand against my back belonging to Gus.

The room is filled with round tables, accompanied by eight chairs. Rich, velvet, burgundy table cloths don the tables and each chair is dressed in cream, slashed with the same dark red sash. Cream plates are positioned before each chair, silver cutlery – polished and reflective – placed beside them. Gorgeous gold chandeliers stand proudly as each table's centre piece, droplets of gold hanging from them delicately. It's magnificent. The top table, a rectangle at the far end of the room, is lined with ten similarly dressed chairs, and the chandelier in the centre is much grander than any of those at the other tables. With a feeling of dismay and disappointment, I realise that Gus will be sat up there, and I will not.

As if he reads my mind, Augustus leans into me. "Jane, Mum's maid of honour, kicked up a fuss when she realised she couldn't be sat with her partner. So my parents let him sit at the top table too and extended the same offer to me, their best man." Augustus smiles, his arm snaking around my waist as he leans in to kiss my forehead. "Don't fret, Hazel Grace, we will not be separated."

We take our seats. It takes a long while – the guests have to check their names against a seating plan at the entrance – but soon everyone is sat and food is being served.

The meal is exquisite. A menu came round the hotel rooms earlier in the trip and I signed my name against the option of cranberry and blue cheese pasta which tastes divine. Augustus, next to me, opted for a traditional roast dinner and wolfs it down now, apparently ravished. He finishes quickly.

"Did you even taste that?" I ask him.

He winks. "Every mouthful."

"Pig." I retort yet the insult is not harsh but meant kindly.

"Not everyone is as slow as you, Hazel Grace." He smirks and picks up his fork, jabbing it into my pasta. I swat him away but not before he scoops up a mouthful. He puts it in his mouth and makes a face.

"Where's the meat?" He says, disbelieving.

I point to myself with my fork. "Vegetarian here, remember?"

"Herbivore." He says, nodding serenely. "Weirdo."

I only roll my eyes.

About half way through my meal, Augustus tenses, the muscles in his arm stiffening as his hands clench into fists at my side. I glance at him, concerned. "Gus?" I say softly. "What's wrong?" I follow his gaze across the room to Zac, who sits at a round table, ignoring the other diners, sitting in his chair with his tailbone against the edge, his pristine, black shoed foot resting atop his knee, his arms behind his head. He winks at me when we make eye contact, and a slow smile spreads across his face, an unspoken, terrible promise hidden beneath.

"He's staring," I say nonchalantly for Augustus' sake, trying not to show how unnerved I am. "So what?"

"So you didn't just see what he mouthed to me." He growls and I place a hand on his arm, my face calm. After a tense moment, Gus glances at me, his eyes softening from the crystallised ice to a swirling ocean of affection.

"He's not going to try anything." I tell him. "Not here. And I'll go back with you to the hotel afterwards; I'll give him no time to do anything."

Augustus places his palm over mine before he touches my face. Appetite forgotten, I push my dish away and clutch his hand under the table. My eyes flicker to his father, behind his son, who watches Gus from across the top table with something like a proud smile on his face. He meets my gaze and his smile widens, kind and accepting.

"Take care of him." He mouths and I give a slow, perceptible nod before I lean into Gus' shoulder. I survey the reception, avoiding Zac's lingering gaze. It seems live everyone has finished their meals now, and I start to wonder when the speeches will begin just as Augustus taps his spoon against his glass, swallowing nervously as he gains everyone's attention. I squeeze his hand reassuringly as he stands, his hands straightening his jacket.

"I hope you all enjoyed your meals." He says, solemnly. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I think it is time for me to say my part."

Someone in the reception cheers and Augustus gives a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ned." He says, nodding to the man. The guests laugh. I remember vaguely that Ned is Augustus' uncle.

"So, we're celebrating the marriage, the union, of my parents. And I think now seems like as good a time as any to tell them just how much I love them. I know that, typically, it's obsolete for a teenage son to show how much affection he holds for his Mum and Dad, and I know that ordinary sons only ever communicate with their parents in grunts or groans. But I have, and always have had, a disdain for the ordinary, and so it would be hypocritical for me to follow their lead."

Augustus gains a few laughs from that and I sense rather than see him start to relax at the sound.

"It's difficult for me to see this day any different than any other day. My parents have been together, been _in love_, for my entire life. Today is only an amalgamation. It's only a piece of paper to declare the undying love they've shared for almost two decades. Of course, I can't sign it, as I'm underage, but I'm sure someone will. It's completely impossible not to see the love they share, not to witness the bond between them.

"I've grown up accepting that their love is out of the ordinary, that it is miraculous, phenomenal even for that kind of love to even exist. I accepted that I would most likely never feel it myself, or experience just a shred of it." He glances at me and I inhale sharply at the warmth in his eyes, the vulnerability, the adoration. "Perhaps I was wrong, but of course," He faces the crowd again. "We shall see."

I swallow, my chest tightening a little. I adjust my cannula, trying to pretend the flush in my cheeks is not real.

"My father told me something once. He said something and it has stuck with me for many years. I was a ten-year-old boy, grieving the loss of his sister. He said something to me, lost in his own turmoil of anguish. He said: "I thought being an adult meant knowing what you believe, but that has not been my experience.""

He pauses for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat. I can see how much it pains him to talk about that time of sorrow, to talk about the death of his sister. I almost intervene; almost tell him he doesn't have to say anything. But then I realise that this speech isn't just for his parents or the guests of the wedding. This speech is for Augustus Waters.

"I hold that quote dear to me, Dad." He says, looking his father in the eye. His father nods, his jaw tense, and I realise he's holding back tears. Both of them are. "I become an adult – legally, at least – in just a small blink of time. And I would like to tell you, Dad, that it is your lessons I hold valuable more than any teachings I'll ever learn at school, or college, or from books or powerful leaders. I learnt more from you than I did from several terminally ill teenagers much like myself, including some blind kid. They taught me enough, but you taught me more. I do not expect to know what I believe when I am adult, because God knows what I don't know now I never will, but I do know this: I believe in true love. I don't believe that everybody gets to keep their eyes or not get sick or whatever, but everybody should have true love and it should last at least as long as your life does."

He nods at his parents and then glances at me and I am shocked to see a film of moisture over his eyes. Tears. Augustus Waters has tears in his eyes. "For infinity." He says softly, though his voice can be heard across the silent hall. He touches my hair lightly. "Some infinities are bigger than other infinities."

I hear his parents suck in a sharp breath, and I know they recognise the mantra their deceased daughter repeated over and over and over again. How cruel, I think, to have that wound reopened on your wedding day.

But then I realise that is Augustus' intention. He wants people to know that true love lasts at least as long as life does but can extend beyond it, just like his parents' love for their daughter extends beyond her pitiful life.

Augustus glances up at the other guests in the room and I watch as a tear escapes his dark lashes and slides down his cheek. "Some infinities are bigger than other infinities so love shared should be blinding and white-hot and striking and intense because you never know if you got the smaller infinity or the larger one."

He looks to his parents. "I hope you are blessed with the latter. But I'd like to thank you both, and my sister – if she is listening from wherever she is now, if she's anywhere but oblivion – for teaching me that. It's the most valuable lesson I've ever known."

He sits down and I touch his face, unable to just sit there. I let my thumb wipe away the tear from his face and I let my kiss touch his close eyelids, feeling his damp lashes against my lips, as the guests' attention is diverted back to the newlyweds. I clutch at his hand and rest my forehead against his and we absorb each other's strength. I become aware of my own silent tears, as aware as I am of Augustus' or his parents' or the other guests' sniffles in the room. Augustus Waters has spoken only the truth and it has shaken us to our core.

* * *

Later, I watch Mr. and Mrs. Waters take their first dance. Her dress glides across the floor and he takes her in his arms so completely, without a trace of hesitation or doubt. They are two swans, mated for eternity.

"Do you think they'll be together forever?" I ask Augustus, nudging him slightly. He curls his fingers in mine.

"I think forever is an incorrect concept." He says, a smirk playing at his lips. There is nothing of the boy who cried visible now. The boy who cried is buried underneath but I know he is there. I know there are many facets to Augustus Waters, and I am determined to understand as many of them as there are.

"You're an incorrect concept." I say and he only shakes his head.

"That was a pitiful comeback, Hazel Grace." He smirks. "Dance with me?"

"I can't dance, remember?" I point to my oxygen tank. Earlier, Augustus – in one of his playful moods – had tied a burgundy sash around it so it now resembled some four-year-old's hand-made Easter basket.

Augustus shakes his head. "That hasn't stopped you before." He says, pulling me across the dance floor. We are only the second couple to dance – after his parents – so I am overly conscious of the eyes that follow our every move, the attention of the other guests.

He slides a hand around my waist and pulls me close. We don't move around much – I can't – but we sway together, dancing in our own little bubble.

Augustus runs a hand over my hair, and then his fingers trail down the back of my arm to rest at the base of my spine as he holds me. I'm content in his arms, completely and utterly at ease. After a while, his head leans into mine and he murmurs the words of the song, in tune. His voice is beautifully tragic, soft in all the right places and low.

_And I know, you're gonna be away a while_

_But I've got no plans at all to leave._

_And would you take away my hopes and dreams and just stay with me?_

I rest my head against his chest, listening as his voice envelops me. The love I feel for him takes my breath away, takes me to another world of paradise, of bliss.

_Take my hand and my_

_Heart and soul, I will_

_Only have these eyes for you._

We dance and dance until my lungs can't gain enough oxygen and we step outside, the same song still playing in the hall. It's the newlywed's chosen song for their wedding but I can't help but feel it describes my love for Augustus more than their own story.

The sun has set and the darkness is disrupted only by the lights of Dubai. The city never sleeps and the streets still bustle with drunken people.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Augustus asks me, leaning against the wall.

I step over to him but we don't touch. "I feel like I'm in a dream and soon I'm going to wake up and this..." I throw my arms out. "Won't have happened. I feel like I don't exist."

"We exist, Hazel Grace," He says sadly. "We're just a blink in oblivion, unnoticed."

"That's the way we're supposed to be." I say.

"You walk lightly on this earth." He notes, his tone still melancholy. "You're not obsessed with the need to leave your mark."

I look out, feeling the cool breeze of the night, to the sea beyond Dubai. The moonlight shines, bathing us in white light. "I don't really see the point. It's all going to end soon, anyway. Everything."

_And you know, everything changes but_

_We'll be strangers if we see this through_

_You could stay within these walls and bleed_

_Or just stay with me_

As Augustus wraps his arms around me, his lips pressing against my hair, I think, _I'll stay with Augustus Waters._ As long as I can. As long as I can before Death claims me as His own.

* * *

**(M Rated from here until next Author's note – Please scroll down if you don't want to read lemony stuff)**

* * *

Augustus' door crashes open and we stumble inside, a blur of kissing and touching and moaning. He loses his suit jacket, his lips never straying from mine. I wind my hands in his mahogany hair, groaning slightly, as his fingers caress my spine, smoothing over my bare skin. I'm already breathless and I drag my oxygen tank with me as he lifts me up - my legs wrapping around his waist as I kiss him - and dumps me on the bed, taking off his waist coat. I watch him, desire burning through me as he climbs on top of me, supporting his weight with his elbows.

Every nerve is on fire, my blood bubbling and burning in my veins. I pull him down to meet me and his tongue caresses my lips, his hands softly touching me as though he is afraid I will break. My lips part and I pull him closer. I want to be closer – this isn't enough. I want more, need more.

When his hands rick my dress up, the material bunching at my thighs, I let him. I reach for his burgundy tie, my fingers stumbling as I try to untie it. He pauses momentarily, laughing softly and I blush.

"You can't do it?"

"I'm _trying_." I growl, trying not to show him just how much I need him.

"It's okay." His hands touch mine, stilling my fingers. "It's okay." He breathes again. "We can slow down."

"I don't _want_ to slow down." I gasp.

He chuckles, his voice low as he adeptly unties the tie and reaches for his buttons. I give a moan and swat away his fingers.

"Lemmeeee." I whine playfully and he laughs but releases his shirt, his hands returning to my thighs. He kisses me as I work to undo his buttons and his head dips down to kiss me.

"Distracting." I murmur, staring pointedly at the buttons I'm trying – but failing – to undo. He laughs again, sucking at my lip. My stomach writhes with butterflies of need and I let myself kiss him before I return to the buttons.

Finally, after what seems like a torturous amount of time, his shirt comes off, revealing his tanned, unblemished skin, carved into natural muscle. I run my hands over his chest and he inhales sharply.

"Hazel," He hisses, his eyes hooded with desire. "Hazel Grace, do you want this?"

"I want you." I tell him honestly. "I'll never want anyone else. I only want you."

He groans at my words, his head burying in my neck. He kisses me softly, his teeth grazing my skin. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I tremble under his touch. I feel beautiful, I feel _radiant_.

I play with the waistband of his jeans, my fingers splaying across his abdomen. I can feel that he wants me, too. He is hard in all the places I am soft. He exhales when I fumble with his button, the breath sharp with wanting.

He helps me, noticing my ineptness. I know I should feel awkward and embarrassed - especially after he lifts my dress over my head and it becomes tangled in my oxygen tubing leading me to complain, "It's stuck," and for him to laugh above me - but I don't. I am clothed in just blue lingerie, my body otherwise completely bared to him. I am completely in love with Augustus Waters. I can't unlove him. I can't forget the way I feel about him; I never will.

When he wears only his boxers, I roll over so he is nestled in the pillows of the bed and I am on top of him. He stares up at me with reverence, with awe, with adoration.

"I love you so much." I whisper and in answer, he kisses me. His fingers trail down my spine, over my oxygen tubing and he unhooks my bra, his lips lowering from my mouth to my neck and then to my breasts. My stomach clenches and I moan. I can't wait anymore.

I roll my hips, creating friction between us. He tenses and he tips his head back, letting out a silent moan of pleasure. I kiss him, grinding against him until he growls with need, rolling us over again, his eyes on mine.

The awe and reverence is still there, but desire and an animalistic need also swirls within his blue irises. We both pant with desire and his fingers edge underneath the hem of my underwear, touching me _there_. My moans are silenced by his kisses.

"Hazel Grace," He murmurs and I know what he is saying in those two words. He wants me and he can't wait anymore.

"I need you." I whisper.

"Look at me when you climax, Hazel." He pleas. "I need to see it in your eyes. Don't close your eyes, okay?"

I smile, though I know his request might be difficult to fulfil. I can't think through the utter bliss that seeps through me. "Okay."

His fingers continue to tantalise me beneath my underwear and it's not long before they're on the floor. Augustus touches my button and I jolt, not expecting the white-hot pleasure that shoots through me. He grins at my reaction and lowers his head.

"What are you doing?" I blink at him and he smirks.

"I just want you to sit back." He says. "If you want me to stop, just say." When I don't say anything, a wicked, mischievous gleam flares in his eyes and he says, "Don't you trust me?"

I do. Of course I do. I trust Augustus Waters with my life, though it won't make much difference in the end.

He sees the assent in my eyes because he dips his head between my legs, his hand pressed against my stomach.

His lips press against my clitoris and I gasp as his tongue snakes out, hot and damp against me. I rock my hips, lust shooting through me. He does this again and again and again and I feel something rising inside me. I cry out but Augustus pulls away before the sensation falls, that annoying smirk still on his face.

"How are you doing?" His voice is mocking and I pull him up, gripping him by his biceps, drawing his mouth to mine with a groan.

"Quit playing around." I growl and I know he hears the double meaning in my words because he raises an eyebrow.

There's more shedding of clothes – on his part – and then he lingers over me, his eyes scanning my face. There's reverence and desire, adoration and need, but there's vulnerability there, too, a nervousness that I haven't really seen before.

"You still want this?"

"Oh, shut up." I say and I kiss him again, tangling my fingers in his soft hair. I hear the sound of a foil packet opening and, realising what it is, I flush but don't feel any hint of indecision or hesitation. I _want_ this.

There's a flash of pain followed by intense pleasure as he pushes himself inside me. He groans and jerks his hips slightly. I hiss quietly at the pain that blares from the movement.

"Hazel Grace?" He lifts his head to look at me, scanning my eyes, uncertainty in his own.

"Just slower." I say quietly, a flush of embarrassment sweeping through me. "For now...I haven't done this before."

Understanding flashes in his eyes before he kisses me softly. "Sorry."

I wave him off, lost in an ocean of paradise as he moves slower, his hips thrusting with a rising need. After the initial pain goes away, the movements quicken and after some time, I feel that rising sensation again, as if something is building inside me. I moan at the sensation and he looks at me, his eyes never straying from mine as he thrusts again and again.

"Come on, Hazel Grace." He murmurs, his blue eyes dark with desire. "Don't hold back, sweetheart."

His words completely undo me and the sensation crashes, bathing me in intense passion and pleasure. I cry out, "Augustus!"

"Oh my god, Hazel." He gasps as he stiffens above me, his own moan stifled by my lips as he kisses me.

He collapses on top of me, his head nestled in my neck. After a while, my lungs start to ache with effort of drawing in breath so I tell him and he moves off me, rolling onto his side, resting on his elbow.

We don't say anything for a moment.

"You are so beautiful." He says, touching my cheek. "You are so busy being you that you have no idea how utterly unprecedented you are."

"I'm in love with you, Augustus." I giggle as the feeling of contentment settles over me.

He pulls the duvet over the both of us and I send a quick text to Mum to tell her where I am – despite knowing she'll draw all sorts of conclusions – before I nestle into Augustus, my cheek rested against the hollow in his shoulder. He strokes my hair, touches my cheek. He also messes with my cannula when it becomes slightly dislodged. He doesn't even blink when he does so, and I realise just how accepting he is of my disease.

We fall asleep like that, entwined in each other.

* * *

**(T Rated from now. READ and please don't hate me.)**

* * *

When I wake, it's two a.m. Augustus' arms are wrapped around my waist, but I'm so stiflingly hot that I have no choice but to move. I carefully disentangle myself, being careful not to wake him, silently groaning at the pleasurable ache that rocks through the core of my body. I slept with him last night. I _slept_ with Augustus Waters. A feeling of elation spreads through me.

I throw on some underwear and a dressing gown and slip out of the door, taking his key with me so I don't become locked out.

I pad barefoot down the hallway, towards the great balcony of the hotel. The place is silent, save for the small scuff of my feet against the carpet. I step through the glass doors and inhale the cool air of the night.

The city still isn't asleep, the night life raging with drunks and teenagers partying. In the distance, I see the Burj Khalifa, piercing the night's sky with its silver, reflective walls. It's magnificent at night too, I think. What would it be like to be beautiful all the time, and never have a moment to drop the facade?

I rest one hand on the balcony railing and another on my oxygen tank handle. I still feel the afterglow of sex, like sun on my skin. I sigh and relax in the feeling. I still can't believe it happened. Augustus Waters made love to me. I had the same effect on him as he has on me. He unravelled beneath my touch, he cried out my name. I did that to him. The thought is almost too much to believe.

Standing alone on the balcony, staring at the stars above, I'm reminded of another song. Augustus once played it to me on his iPod, whilst we were walking to class.

_So open your eyes and see_

_The way our horizons meet_

_And all of the lights will lead_

_Into the night with me_

_And I know these scars will bleed_

_But both of our hearts believe_

_All of the stars will guide us home_

Apart from creaks and groans from the hotel, the night is silent and still. I let it calm me. I should go back.

A flash of movement in my peripheral vision startles me and before I can make my feet move, a hand clamps down on my mouth. I try to scream but I only inhale water, and I realise that my attacker holds a soaking wet cloth to my mouth. I try not to panic, I try to breathe through my nose instead, but it's made difficult by the way my attacker's hand squashes my cannula tubing. I can't get oxygen. I'm drowning in my own air. I kick and thrash but the lack of oxygen is only making me more exhausted. I try to free myself, kicking between the legs of my attacker. I miss but he still snarls, "Bitch."

Based on that one word, I know who it is. Zac Waters.

I don't even have time to think before the darkness swallows me whole.

* * *

**Please review! :D Let me know what you thought of this chapter, what you want to happen, what you don't want to happen etc etc. Update soon!**

**P.S If the lyrics were wrong, I'm sorry. Credit to the producers/artists etc I own nothing blah...**


	19. Horror's Ice

**I'm sorry it's been a while since I updated…I've had a case of severe Writer's Block. I know the plot of this story inside and out BUT I've been unable to get the images of this chapter on paper – in words. I really struggled to write this chapter so I'm sorry if it's not quite up to par compared to the others. I did work on it a lot though. You should have seen the first draft! (Let's not go there…) TAKE PITY ON ME, OKAY. I FELL VICTIM TO WRITER'S BLOCK – WE'VE ALL BEEN THERE.**

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you think… THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWS SO FAR! THEY MAKE MY DAY!**

**Also, for any Mortal Instruments fans (Cassandra Clare), I've posted a new fic – Rated M – named Seduction and Blood. If you want to read, take a peek – it's on my profile. Be warned, it's very different from this. Nowhere near as light and fluffy. **

"**It hurt because it mattered."**

* * *

I wake to the sounds of shouting.

My chest hurts, and my head pounds so hard against my skull that I think I might faint again. The events suddenly all come rushing back to me and I try to sit up straight, but my strength is depleted and I'm so tired...

"Morning, sleeping beauty."

My eyes snap open. Zac strolls in, wearing just a towel around his waist, water dripping from his dark hair. Hatred burns through me, but something else too. Fear. Did he...did he try anything while I was unconscious?

I look around. He hasn't tied me to anything. I'm just sat here, in his bed, still wearing that skimpy robe. Why didn't I put on anything more...concealing? I can tell by the style of the room that I'm still in the hotel and I can finally source the sounds of shouting from the pedestrians and marketers down below, on the streets. The sun shines through the windows, lighting the room, casting a warm glow on my face. I squint and look away.

I try to stay calm through the panic that twists at my stomach. "Why am I in your room?"

He smirks, pulling a t shirt over his shoulders. Damp patches dot the white shirt where his soaking hair has brushed it. "Because I brought you here."

"Why?"

Zac shrugs. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

I frown. That is not what I expected him to say. "You _kidnapped_ me."

Now it's Zac's turn to pout. "I wouldn't use the word 'kidnap', exactly. It was just a little role play."

"Are you so guilty that you're downplaying what you did?"

Zac turns to me, the towel still wrapped around his hips. "I was very drunk last night, Hazel." He says darkly. "And angry."

"You think that makes it alright?" When he doesn't respond, I sigh. "Just let me go back to my room."

"I can't do that."

I lean back, pulling my robe over my body. "Why not?"

"Because they're looking for you now. If I let you go, they'll know I took you." He shrugs and turns back around. Without hesitation, he drops the towel, revealing _everything_. Disgusted and shocked by his abrupt movement, I squeeze my eyes shut, goosebumps of foreboding shivering across my skin.

"So I won't tell them." I say, my eyes still closed. I spare a thought for Augustus, who is probably frantic with worry. I was last with him, after all. The thought of our night together makes me blush slightly and my body trembles, butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I need to find him.

Zac, who has now pulled some dark jeans on, flits around his room. I watch him carefully. He pulls various t-shirts and other items of clothing out his wardrobe and chest of drawers, throwing them into a bag, which lies on the floor in front of him.

Something clogs in my throat. "What are you doing?" I ask.

"Packing."

Cold seeps into my skin. "Where are you going?"

"Home."

I peer at him. "So you'll let me go?"

He huffs. "No." He says. "I booked two tickets. You're coming with me."

I choke. "You have to be joking." I say and laugh. Even I can hear the sound is brittle and false, riddled with the terror that almost consumes me. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"How are you going to stop me, sweetheart?"

There it is. There's the mocking, snide voice I've been waiting for. I hadn't expected the cold, abrupt responses I was receiving before, and didn't know what to make of them. "I'll only shout." I say, after swallowing. "And run. I'll _never_ stop running from you."

I don't know why I am so calm. Inside, I'm a quivering wreck of fear. Augustus had hinted that Zac is sociopathic, that he is dangerous. Just how far will Zac go to piss Augustus off? Because that is why he is doing this, right? To get to Gus...through me.

"We'll go out the back door. And don't worry – I'll just drug you. You'll be a drowsy sweet. No one will suspect you're unwilling." He stalks closer to me and I edge away from him slightly. "Though, of course, by then, you may _not_ be so unwilling."

He rests a knee against the mattress, his head coming down to the same level as mine. I can smell the remains of the alcohol on his breath, hot and murky against my cheek. I swallow and turn away.

He growls and wrenches my chin back to face him. I grunt in surprise, not expecting the violence.

"How did you come to be in Augustus Waters' room at two o'clock in the morning, Hazel?" He asks softly and I bite my lip, anger churning through me.

"What do you think?" I snap, my eyes straying down to my robe. An obvious hint.

"Ah," He says, his eyes following my gaze. "You did look positively delicious in that robe last night, like something from a painting. A pity your oxygen tank ruined it for me. I'm not much into disease. It's not a fetish that gets me going."

I scowl, but a sliver of relief shoots down my spine. For the first time, I'm thankful towards my cancer. Perhaps it will keep his hands off me.

I eye the door longingly, contemplating my plan to make a run for it. It'd be impossible; my stupid disease prevents it.

As if he reads my thoughts, Zac says, "I wouldn't try running if I were you."

He's still too close, too near me. I try to scoot away, but his hand presses against my thigh, keeping me still, drawing his body closer to mine. Bile rises in my throat.

"By simple curiosity, I ask:" He says, his eyes never straying from mine. "What's Augustus like? In bed, I mean."

I stare at him. What the hell?

"Well, you see, I'm the older cousin, so I've always viewed Augustus as a _little boy_." He sneers. "I can't imagine him seducing a girl, especially one as headstrong as yourself."

"You shouldn't be imagining him in that respect at all." It's not a very good comeback, and it elicits a frustrating chuckle from Zac, whose eyes flare with malice.

"Perhaps." He agrees, "But humour me."

"No." I growl and he smirks.

"Was he gentle? Did he touch you like this?" The back of his hand traces my cheekbone and I turn away from him, sickened. Even from the angle of my face, I see the fury in his eyes, fury at my response. "Or was he rough? Did he do _this_ to you?"

He wrenches my head back and I cry out in agony as fire rips across my skull. His lips crush mine, his tongue pushing through my closed lips, invading my mouth. I snarl against his mouth and his tongue rolls over mine, forcing submission. I push against him but he doesn't budge, so I do the only thing I can do and bite his lip, hard. I taste blood.

He yelps in surprise and sits back. He wipes at his moistened lips and I make a crude gesture involving my middle finger.

"Don't try that again." I say, my voice icy and aloof. "Ever. I'll make you pay, if you do."

"You fight dirty, little girl." He breathes, his finger testing his lip. I take great satisfaction in seeing the crimson liquid shine on his fingertip. "I like that."

"You won't." I warn, a shiver of revulsion crawling up my spine. I try to move away from him again but his hand stops me again.

My lungs ache; my tank needs refilling. I eye it worriedly, my eyes flitting from Zac for a moment. The last thing I need is to pass out right now. I need to get out of here. And fast.

He leans in again. I hear it more than I sense it. I whip my head round to meet his cool, amused gaze and glare at him, pouring all my hatred, all my repulsion into the look. The fear and vehemence pulses in my blood, latching onto my thoughts and holding me captive.

"I wonder if you were so dirty to Augustus last night?" Zac breathes. "What did you tell him? _'Go harder, Gus. There, oh fuck, right there. Don't stop._'"

I cringe away from him. The words sound so vulgar on his lips, so disgusting. Heat pools in my face.

He moves so quickly that I don't even have time to blink. Suddenly he lies on top of me, his hands flush against my body, on areas only Augustus had ever touched. Instinct spurs me and I slap him, hard. The resounding crack doesn't quite match up with the flip of his head. A dark, angry mark creeps into his skin and he grunts. The cut on his lip hasn't healed, and blood drips onto his chin, making him appear like something from a horror movie. I'm living my own personal horror movie.

When he turns back to meet my gaze, there's something so animalistic, so dangerous in his gaze that I can't help but whimper.

He moves against me and I exhale sharply as his hand presses against me under my robe. No. No, this can't be happening. Not again. Not after last time. Tears pool in my eyes and I scramble to escape, writhing beneath his heavy weight. He shifts and his elbow comes down on my oxygen tubing, wrenching my cannula from my nose so painfully that I cry out again.

"_No!" _I choke and renew my efforts to move him off me. With my cannula no longer aiding my breathing combined with his weight on top of me, my lungs protest agonizingly, failing to draw oxygen into my body.

My vision blurs through my tears and he laughs under his breath as I struggle against him. His hand moves further up my body and I cry out as a pulse of unwanted, sluggish but instinctual lust shoots to my groin. I don't want this. _This can't be happening._

My hands grasp for something, anything to help me. My hands scrunch at empty sheets and he hisses.

"Little girl so worked up already?" He says, his eyes on the sheets in my fists, mistaking the movement to be of pleasure. "We're just getting started."

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" I scream and his free hand slaps against my mouth, cutting off the words. I can only breathe through my nose now, and the feeling is laboured unhealthily. Dizzying fatigue settles over me and I sob against his hand as my vision darkens.

I grope around, kicking and flailing. My hands knock at the bedside unit and a vase falls onto the pillow. Without thinking, I pick it up – the water and flowers falling on the both of us – and smash it against the base his skull.

Instantly, he slackens and his body slumps against mine, limp.

"Shit." I say, my heart thudding loudly against my chest. I'm in agony. I wriggle as much as I can under his dead weight, my eyes on my cannula, just out of reach. If I can only move a little more...

There. My fingers graze the oxygen tubing and I wrench it towards me, tipping the tank against the bed as I rewind the cannula around my neck and attach the nubbins to my nostrils. Blessed oxygen tickles my nose but sparingly; it's almost out.

Panic surges within me when I look back at Zac. His eyes are closed, his skin pale. The weight of his body against mine is crushing. I buck and thrash, using energy I shouldn't have but adrenaline has leant me. I manage to shift his body slightly and I use the leverage to pull him off me. My lungs ease up a little as I inhale air Zac denied me.

"_Somebody help me!" _I scream, scrambling off the bed. I can't tear my eyes from Zac, so limp, so lifeless. I back away to the door, a feeling of dread and horror washing over me. What is happening to me? _How did this happen?_

Something seeps into his pale shirt and I swallow, my heart stopping as my eyes linger, transfixed to the liquid. It's thick and sticky and crimson. Blood.

Something inside of me snaps and I yell again, turning towards the door. I need to get away, to leave. I need to get as far away as I can from his body, slumped face down against the mattress. I wrench open the door and fall into the hallway.

"Somebody...help me... I can't...somebody...please...what's happening..." My words are meaningless murmurings, induced from panic and turmoil as I stumble down the hallway. There's no one around, no one to help a staggering, horrified teenager in the dark corridors of a hotel. My vision is fading, hindered by my failing lungs. Nausea trickles through me and I lurch as I wander down the halls until I'm stood in front of a door, breathless, eyes blurry and frenzied.

I bang against it, tears streaming. "_Help!_ Please, help me! Something's happened..."

The door flies open and I'd fall if it weren't for the strong arms that catch me. I find some relief in seeing Augustus' face. Apparently, my sense of direction is astute even whilst incoherent.

"Hazel Grace, oh my God, you're safe." He holds me close before stepping back, seeing the frightened tears on my face. His blue eyes are especially bright, piercing through the haze of panic. "What happened?"

"Gus, you have to help me."

"Why? Of course. What's happened?" He says, his hand stroking my hair over and over as if to reassure himself that I'm still there.

"I can't breathe...I'm running out of oxygen. Zac kidnapped me...and...he tried to...I hit him...there's blood..."

"Woah, slow down." Augustus says, reaching behind his door to grab a coat. He wraps it around my shoulders as he leads me back into the corridor. "Let's get to your room to replace the oxygen."

"Augustus," I say, and my voice is suddenly very clear. "I think I killed him."

He stills, tension in his body. His blue eyes flash with alarm before he's guiding me again. "I seriously doubt it. Come on. We'll sort this out when you can breathe again."

I want to tell him Zac is dying, that he's bleeding out on the hotel sheets, bleeding from a wound _I_ inflicted. But I can't breathe. I'm out of oxygen. My lungs are on fire and I'm staggering blindly, relying on Augustus for support. His hand grips my elbow firmly, steering me. Every so often, he murmurs soothing nothings but I can't respond. I can't even think.

It takes every ounce of strength to keep one foot in front of the other; my vision is darkening and my muscles quake with the lack of oxygen, searing painfully.

Finally, after what seems like forever, we reach my room. Mum answers the door and pales at the sight of me.

"You found her." She says and there's so much relief and gratitude in her voice.

"Technically, she found me." Augustus breathes, pulling me inside. He sits me down and turns to Mum. "She needs her oxygen replacing. Then we'll explain."

Mum bustles around the room and it's not long before my tank is replaced and I can breathe again.

I take several desperate mouthfuls of air, cooling my frenzied heart and curing the pain in my chest. I don't feel so dizzy and my muscles aren't searing with heat anymore.

"Hazel, I need you to tell me what happened to you." Mum says, touching my cheek. I move out of her reach and look at Gus, my eyes beseeching.

"I left yours in the night." I say. "Just for a breath of fresh air; I planned to come back. I wanted to. But he jumped me...I don't remember entirely what happened. He blocked my airways until I passed out and dragged me to his room."

Augustus moves towards me, his hand reaching to touch me, but he pulls back at the last minute, and I'm left feeling cold at the look on his face.

"Who is this, honey?" Mum says, her hands on my knees. I don't answer her; I'm too transfixed by Augustus, by the silent conversation we share.

"You were right, Gus." I whisper and another tear slips unsolicited down my face. "He hurt me. Like you said he would."

Gus sucks in a sharp breath and something clouds his face. Something dark and animalistic, wild and intense. "Fucking son of a bitch." He breathes and my eyes widen when I see his hands are clenched into fists.

"I hit him." I say calmly. "With a vase. It shattered against his skull. There was blood...so much blood. Oh, God, what if I've killed him?"

Mum interjects, alarm in her eyes. "Alright, stop!" She says, holding her hands up. Her eyes bore into me, unwavering. "I think we need to see this boy."

* * *

Ten minutes later, I'm dressed into something less revealing and bloody and my mind is a little more coherent. I bite my lip and leave the room, Augustus and Mum in tow. I feel slightly calmer now. Perhaps it's due to the fact that I can finally breathe, or maybe it's the calm before the storm. The stillness before the panic sets in.

No one pays us any attention as we walk through the halls. I'm surprised, actually. I thought at least someone would hear my calls for help, but apparently the walls are solid and soundproof.

The closer we get to Zac's room, the more jumpy I get. I keep expecting him to attack me, to ambush me round a corner. At one point, I have to stop, my own fright inhibiting my breathing. Augustus places an arm around me – the first time he's touched me since he steered me to my room – and murmurs, "I'm not going to let him hurt you again."

But he said that before. Then again, this all happened because I wasn't careful; I can't exactly blame Augustus.

When I reach the door, I stop, bile rising, flooding into my mouth. I want to vomit or spit or something but all I do is swallow. I swallow my fear and take a deep breath.

Augustus opens the door, his eyes on me.

I walk in, keeping my eyes trained to the wall in front. Only when I hear Mum's squeal of fright do I look at him.

Zac is still there, lying on the sheets, blood drying on his shirt. The wound at the back of his head has crusted over and it no longer bleeds. His eyes are shut and his face is pale, a translucent edge to his skin. He looks dead. Perhaps he is. The thought invades my mind and takes over and I am bound by the horrors within me. What if I killed him? What if I'm a murderer?

Augustus exhales and walks over to the bed. There's no compassion in his face, no worry for his cousin. He bends over and examines him.

"Tell me how this happened." He says but he doesn't look at me. There's something cold and detached about him; he's nothing like the Augustus Waters I knew before. Does he hate me? Is he disappointed with me? Disgusted by my actions?

I open my mouth to tell him, but the words don't flow as easily as I like. "I was trapped underneath him...I didn't have my cannula - he touched me. I...I tried to grab for something and the vase fell. I didn't think, Gus." I say and I feel the rise of a sob in my throat. "I didn't think. I just hit him. _I didn't think._ Please believe me."

"How did you get away?" Augustus asks, his voice a monotone. "You said you were trapped."

"I..." I shake my head. "I just wriggled out from under him. I couldn't breathe – I just had to get away."

My mum interjects. She stares at Zac with a mixture of horror and hatred on her face. "Is he alive?"

Augustus snaps out of his icy demeanour and places his fingers against his cousin's throat.

While I wait for Augustus to feel for a pulse, several thoughts flit through my mind.

If I killed him, I'll spend the rest of my days in prison. If I killed him, the guilt will eat me alive. I don't care what he did to me...to take someone's life...

I scan Augustus' face. He seems so tightly controlled but I know fury boils beneath his calm face. Part of me wonders if he'll be happy if Zac is dead. He really hates him that much. But that's so unlike Augustus. The Gus I know would never revel in another's death. Ever. He's too compassionate. Too kind.

Another part of me speaks different.

I see darkness in Augustus now, darkness I never considered before. Perhaps there's more to him than I ever realised. More to his happy, metaphorical, pretentious ways.

Perhaps Augustus Waters isn't as entirely moral as he claims.

That thought terrifies me the most.

* * *

**Please review – even if it's only a short comment! It'll only take a moment...If you liked this chapter, please tell me! I need some reassurance at least... I LOVE YOU ALL!**

**Update soon!**


	20. Coaxing Reassurance

**HEY, so another update! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR MY REVIEWS YOU LOVELY PEOPLE! Please carry on doing what you do best - being awesome! And drop another review so my day can be made once more! My love for you lot knows no bounds! This chapter is a mix of dark and light, because sometimes they go hand in hand, don't you agree? Anyway, enjoy! **

**"It is my burden, this beautiful face."/"Not to mention your body."**

* * *

"He's alive."

The words sweep over me, drowning me in relief I never thought I'd feel. I sag against the wall, closing my eyes, dizzied by the calm that has cleared my breathing and slowed my heart.

_He's alive._

I'm not a murderer. The thought plays over my mind again and again, a repetitive stream of words until they blur together and all I can think is: I'm not evil.

Augustus looks at me and I inhale sharply. He's still cold and closed off, nothing like the boy I know. There's no hint of the playful Gus I've fallen in love with. I just stare at him, completely frozen by his expression. Have I lost him? Does he hate me? I hope to God he doesn't. I can't bear the thought of losing him, of having Augustus Waters be only the name of a person I used to know.

"Gus?" I say, my voice quivering slightly. "I…"

"Just go and get some help, Hazel." He says, and he looks away from me, the muscles in his jaw clenching. I feel like he's just punched a hole in my chest. I feel like I'm sinking, like there's no one able to save me, like I'm submerged in water and I can't breathe…

"I'll go." Mum says and I snap out of my depressing reverie to see her stride across the room. "If he wakes up, run."

Augustus makes a sound. It's something between disbelief and dark humour. "Somehow, I really don't think that's going to happen any time soon."

I just stare at him, slumped against the wall.

Mum goes, leaving the door ajar. I know she left it so we can make a quick escape if we need to, but Augustus is right. Zac isn't stirring and it's unlikely he'll wake just yet.

The silence is thick. Just when I think I can't bear it anymore, he says, "I'm not mad at you."

"You're not?"

He closes his eyes. "I don't hate you, Hazel Grace." He says and his voice cracks. "I know you're thinking that; I can read you like a book. But I don't."

I close my eyes, tipping my head against the wall, my eyes averted from the unconscious body on the bed; the unspoken elephant in the room. I feel so tired, so drained. Today has been the worst day of my life. It stands in contrast to yesterday, which was the best. I can still feel the lingering trace of Augustus' lips on mine, sweet. But I can feel Zac's hands on my skin, burning me, hurting me, overshadowing that which is pure and good. Conflicting emotions, the pleasure and the pain, and I'm not so sure which will come out on top.

* * *

The rest of the day passes in a haze. Some people come upstairs, enter the room, scream – or in one case, vomit – and then they all move too quickly for me to track. The Dubai police question me, their language blurring in my ears until eventually Mum stops the interview process and their translator falls silent and I am left to wander…not alone, but almost.

The Dubai police have taken Zac into custody – I didn't have to witness him waking – and will send him on the first flight back to the UK, along with a criminal report that gives responsibility of the case to the authorities at home. Despite this news, the police have assigned to me a personal bodyguard which serves as a constant reminder to both me and Augustus' family of what happened. I want to forget it, _wish_ I could. But striking a man unconscious with a vase is not something you easily disregard.

I still remember his blood on my hands.

It feels like days until I see Augustus again, though I know it's only hours. He went out for a walk when the police were interviewing me, and I haven't heard from him since. No text. No message or voicemail. He left hours ago.

I twist up in my sheets now, curling into a fetus position, something I haven't done since I was a child. It's midnight and Mum's asleep. She, like me, struggled to drift of through the memory of what happened, but eventually exhaustion took its toll.

I wish I could say the same for myself.

I can't take it anymore. The silence is killing me. The loneliness. The fear. I unhook myself from my BiPap and onto my oxygen tank. I dress silently and head out the door, hoping I haven't woken Mum up.

I walk to his room, jumping at every small sound. The corridors are as dark as they were the night before, when Zac ambushed me. Every creak, every snore through the walls, every tinkle of the blinds terrifies me. It's a blessed, welcome relief when I reach Augustus' door.

I knock and wait.

And wait.

And wait.

He doesn't answer. I lean my forehead against the door, the cool wood biting into my skin. After a while, I slide down the wall, bring my knees up to my chin, close my eyes, and wait him out.

He doesn't come home for hours.

* * *

It's almost three in the morning by the time he stumbles up the corridor, his weight made heavy by fatigue. He's not drunk – that much is clear in his liquid blue eyes – but the scent of alcohol lingers around him.

"Augustus?" I say, surprised. He is acting so out of character.

As if to echo my thoughts, he speaks, his voice firm, clear and set. "I'm not drunk, Hazel Grace."

"I know that…I…" I don't know what to say to him. Eventually, my shoulders sink, defeated. "I just wanted to see you."

He stands before me, his hand resting against the wall for support, and his eyes roam my face, searching. I can see the emotions that swirl in the turmoil of his blue irises. There's relief and affection, but there's also pain and misery and sadness.

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you today." He tells me eventually. His voice wavers slightly and I look up, disturbed by the sound. "I should have been here. I acted selfishly and impulsively and I'm so sorry."

I shake my head. "I don't really know what to say."

He steps close, and his hand touches my cheek lightly, his fingers grazing over my cannula. "I didn't want you to see the ice in my eyes. I didn't want you to think the hatred was aimed at you." He kicks at the skirting board suddenly, his face flaring with anger. "I should have been there to _protect_ you from that son of a bitch."

"Don't be stupid." I can't help the words that come out of my mouth. "I left your room. You were asleep; we'd just made love and I…"

His head snaps up at my words and his eyes soften with anguish. "Do you regret it?"

"Never." I say truthfully. "Augustus, you gave me the best night of my life. You gave me the happiness I'd never thought possible to experience before the inevitable oblivion, before my life is just a blink in the darkness and I am the no one I've always been again."

"Then why did you leave?" He says and his voice cracks. "_Goddamn_ _it_, Hazel Grace, I've been tormenting myself all day. Zac took you away from me. He took you away from me and hurt you and _do you not see what he is doing?_ First with Caroline and now…" He pauses. "I can't let him take away the very thing that keeps me going."

I suck in a sharp breath at his words, and my lungs twinge. "I left because I wanted some fresh air. Because I wanted to look at the night's stars and remember every detail of our evening together. I wanted to remember the way you touched me, the way you mumbled my name in my hair, lost in the joy we both shared. I wanted to reflect, Augustus, in the love I feel for you."

His face crumbles. "You didn't want to leave me? You didn't regret it?"

Part of me wonders how this has come about, how I have come here, seeking his comfort, and now the roles have reversed and it is _he_ who needs my reassurance. I don't mind, of course. I could never resent Augustus. I touch the line of his jaw with my fingertips, reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss him gently. His lips brush mine and he gives a soft moan, his fingers caressing the line of my shoulder softly.

"I don't want to let you go." I say against his mouth. "Ever."

"We don't get forever, Hazel Grace."

"No, but you _give me_ forever." I whisper, half-frustrated with my inability to explain myself. I try anyway. "I know that one day my lungs will collapse…and that oblivion is inevitable…and that _you gave me forever within the numbered days and I am grateful."_

"Hazel…" His eyes brighten with unshed tears and I kiss his closed eyelids, clutching at his shirt, not out of lust but out of need. I need him here, with me. Now. I'll always need him. He is the flickering light to my darkness, the roaring flame of warmth to my coldness. We are one in the same.

"Don't leave me again." I murmur, and it's not a command, but a plea. "Please."

He holds me close, enfolding me in his arms until my cheek rests against the hollow in between his shoulder and collarbone. I inhale his scent, closing my eyes.

"I left because I couldn't bear to let you see me like this." He says eventually, his voice a low growl. "I didn't want to taint you with my hatred for Zac, with my odium for the human being that _calls himself a man_ but stoops so low as to hurt a girl with cancer."

"My cancer doesn't define me."

"No." He agrees. "_You_ define you. But anyone can admit: it's low. I didn't want your opinion to change of me because of something that Zac did…Because then he would have won."

We're silent for a moment, clutching each other in the dark corridor outside his room, listening to each other's breathing. Steady. Constant. Well, his at least.

"I love you, Augustus Waters."

He hums against my forehead, his lips pressed against my brow. He's here, a steady presence, and he doesn't hate me. The thought is welcome bliss.

* * *

We sleep together that night. We don't make love but neither of us is in that particular mood. I relax in his arms around me, his leg thrown over mine, shielding me almost. His lips brush my skin tenderly, raising goosebumps on my skin.

"I'm sorry I left you." He whispers sadly. I roll my eyes, my back against his chest.

"I thought we were over that."

"I'm not over that. I'll never forgive myself for my weakness."

I turn over, facing him. My palm rests against his cheek, my fingers tracing slow circles against his temple. "No one's perfect, Gus. You're close, but there has to be something that makes you weak." I say. "Flawed."

"You." He says, his eyes unfailingly serious. I would have rolled my eyes if it weren't for the agonized look in his eyes, the breathtaking sorrow. "I didn't really care about anything before…except perhaps Isaac and my parents. But you…you make me care about _everything_. If I lose you…"

"Don't fight the inevitable, Augustus." I sigh, nestling into his chest. "It'll only hurt so much more if you do."

He is silent for a moment. "I used to be accepting of the disease that loomed over our relationship like an axe. I knew what I was getting into, after all." He says, his warm breath brushing my neck. I tremble against him. "But not anymore…I'll never be accepting of something that will take you away from me. Ever."

I don't respond; after all, there's not much to say to him. I cannot stop my illness and I cannot halt the approaching of the final day, where everything will be torn apart and I will be dead and Augustus Waters just an empty shell of the man he used to be. I know my death will destroy him, that I am the very thing I never wanted to be for him: a grenade. But I can't bring myself to call this all off. To turn away from the very thing that's made me the happiest I've ever been. It may be selfish, but we are each flawed, blemished with the desires and wishes and qualities that make up our essences; that distinguish us as human souls as opposed to the souls of heaven.

After a long while, my eyes start to drift shut, his fingers caressing my arm, trailing down to my wrist. "Goodnight, Hazel Grace." He says.

But I'm already gone.

My sleep is uninterrupted by the suffering of my memories, or nightmares, or the failure of my lungs. The night is entirely perfect.

* * *

When I wake the next morning, Augustus lies next to me, his arm thrown over my waist protectively, his cheek resting against my head. He sleeps calmly, his breathing steady against my hair.

I shift only slightly to ease the lack of blood in my arm, but he wakes with a start, clutching me tightly. "Hazel Grace?" He chokes, his voice roughened by sleep, punctured by panic.

"I'm okay." I tell him, wincing as the blood rushes into my arm. "Sorry I woke you."

He relaxes and kisses my forehead. "I don't care."

We stay silent for a moment, while he wakes up. I shift my position lightly and freeze as the backs of my thighs come into contact with his groin, stiff and hard. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, the sound deafening between us. Blushing furiously, I mutter, "Sorry, I forget that happens to guys."

He chuckles, only half-embarrassed. "I'm not complaining."

I slap at his arm playfully, and he laughs again, throwing his head back against the pillow when he sees my flaming face.

"Hazel Grace, are you embarrassed?"

"Do you think?" I hiss and the echoes of his laugh reverberate across the room. I sink into my pillow, mortified.

He lifts himself onto his elbow, turning over to look at me. "I don't understand your logic."

"You don't?" I don't bother to explain.

"Well," He says, shrugging slightly. "You brush your body against me and that's a sin, but you were perfectly okay with the idea of seeing it, touching it, having it inside you."

"Augustus!" I cringe and he kisses my cheek lightly, thoroughly amused.

"Unless you regret it?"

I sigh, touching my cheeks in a fruitless attempt to cool them down. "No."

"Then what's the problem?" His eyes darken with negativity. "Unless what Zac did..."

"No!" I repeat quickly, not wanting his thoughts to follow the path of Zac again. "No. I'm not afraid of sex, Gus."

His eyes lose that frightening edge, lightened with affection and humour towards me. "Then..."

"Okay!" I throw my hands up. "I don't know why I'm embarrassed but can you please just drop it?"

He smirks and I realise how bizarre this conversation is. Just last night, we were discussing dark, horrible things and now we're talking about Augustus' erection? The two topics are so at odds with each other that I find it hard to keep up. But then part of me thinks that's Gus' intention. To distract me from that which was distressing about this trip and turn my thoughts to lighter, more fun concepts.

If that's what he's trying to do, it's working.

"Perhaps you're embarrassed because you feel some strange sense of guilt." Augustus muses, his gaze scanning my face for clues as to what I may be thinking.

"Guilt?"

"Guilt because, despite having had your way with me just two nights ago, you want to do it again?" He smirks when I flush further and throws his hands up. "That's it!"

"'Had my way with you?'" I ask, disbelieving. "Don't you think it's the other way around?"

He lies back against the pillows, pulling me up so my chin lies on his chest, my leg thrown over his and his erection digging into my thighs. I know that's his intention, so I pretend it doesn't faze me in the slightest, and watch the frustration play out on his face with amusement.

"That would insinuate that I took advantage of you, Hazel Grace."

"Didn't you?"

"Do you want me to?" His blue eyes darken with desire and something coils in my abdomen, tensing, as tingles of pleasure shoot up my spine at seeing, and feeling, his arousal.

I bite my lip and jump up, being sure to roll my hips against him whilst doing so. He groans as the friction stimulates him further and I smile complacently as I get out the bed and pad over to the shower.

"I know what you're doing." He calls after me and I giggle, the sound amplified by his bathroom walls. It's a walk-in shower; this hotel is expensive.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." I say innocently. I don't bother to shut the door. I'm not entirely sure where it's come from, but a surge of confidence has washed through me and I drop my jeans, realising I'd slept in my clothes all night. I hear him hum in a pleased tone and I lift my t-shirt, exposing my bra and naked stomach.

I curse as the material gets caught up in the oxygen tubing. Why is it I can dress perfectly normally on my own, but the moment I'm doing it in front of someone else, my freaking cannula gets in the way?

I hear him laugh and then he's beside me, coaxing the shirt off my body with a surprising patience for someone so turned on. "Tease." He says softly. "Completely unfair, considering my affection for you."

I smile and lean into him, kissing him. I suck at his bottom lip and he groans, his fingers grazing my naked spine, touching briefly at my bra strap. I hold my breath, waiting, but he skirts past it, his fingers still caressing my skin.

"Now who's teasing?" I pout and he raises an eyebrow, a question in his blue eyes.

In answer, I lift at his shirt, pulling it over his head. My hands trace the planes of his chest as he kisses me and my breathing quickens as he reaches behind him to flick on the shower. Water cascades over us and I gasp, being careful to keep my face out of it; my cannula needs to stay as dry as possible. He shuts the door before water spills out of the room, and then he takes me in his arms.

In a matter of seconds, the two of us are naked. I keep my cannula in place – though I know I should probably take it off. I don't want our time here to be shortened by my failing lungs.

As though he reads my mind, Augustus leans over and flicks a switch. "Extractor fan." He tells me, his voice thick. "Will get rid of most of the steam."

He's smart. The steam is the main problem here; it clogs up my airways and makes me breathless. The fan whirrs overhead, and already I feel better.

He takes a bottle of shampoo and squirts some of the foam into his hands. I step back slightly, wary.

"Don't you trust me?" He asks, his eyes never straying from my face.

"I trust you." I say. "But I'm worried about my cannula."

"I won't let it get wet." He says solemnly. After a moment of hesitation, I step closer and with perfect precision, he massages my scalp with the shampoo. I close my eyes, enjoying the sensation of his fingers working against my head. He rinses carefully, his gaze concentrated on the water. I wonder how he can keep such focus when we're both so turned on.

When the suds are rinsed, I do the same for him, reaching up to wash his hair. He makes a low, contented sound in the back of his throat when I kiss him lightly. "Hazel Grace," He murmurs but he doesn't finish his sentence.

When we're both washed, our lips meet, and there's much more ferocity, more animalistic desire crackling between us. The soft touches and affectionate murmurings are gone, and now there's a driving need, intense and passionate, raging between us. His lips crash against mine and I run my hands through his hair, feeling the damp locks soak my fingers. His hands are gentle against my skin, but move with an urgency that I feel rising within me.

Eventually, he pulls away. "Hazel, I can't..."

"You don't want to?" I say, raising my eyebrow.

He groans, running a hand through his hair. The water droplets run down his face and I watch with fascination as a drop travels down his chest, resting in the dips of his naked hips.

"I want to, especially when you look at me like _that_." He lifts my chin from that area and I flush, realising what I must have looked like. His gaze is torn, tortured desire shining in his blue eyes. "But I don't have any protection on me."

I bite my lip, thinking. Our flight leaves this afternoon and we'd be home by tomorrow. If I went straight to the chemists, the morning after pill would still be highly effective.

"I've got it covered." I say, kissing him again. He pulls back once more, uncertainty in his gaze.

"Are you sure?"

I roll my eyes, mimicking his words. "Augustus Waters, _don't you trust me?"_

He moans, pulling me flush against him. "Hazel Grace Lancaster, you are insufferable." He kisses me, his tongue tracing my lip. I pull him closer until we're moving as one, our tongues coaxing each other, our hands running over the other's body.

I can't breathe as well as I'd like, but I'm getting enough oxygen to keep me conscious. I don't want to get out, not with the way his hands are running over my skin, causing a tremble to run down my spine.

"What is it about showers, Hazel Grace?" He murmurs against my lips and I smile.

"They seem to hold only those that are _entirely naked_." I whisper and I hear his breath catch in his throat.

If someone were to tell me three months ago that I'd be bold enough to have ludicrously hot sex with Augustus Waters in the shower of a hotel in Dubai, I would have laughed at them.

But here I am. And here he is.

You never quite know what the future holds.

* * *

**Don't forget to review ;)**


	21. Bittersweet Revelations

**Update! So I'll take this moment to say thank you for my reviews and that I read them all and take something from each and every one of them. I've noticed a lot of people worrying about Hazel becoming pregnant in my story; I can put your mind at rest – she does not. I too am uninterested in the plot point of Hazel's pregnancy, especially with how unrealistic it is. In reality, Hazel would most likely miscarry early on in any pregnancy due to the lack of oxygen in her blood or severe ill health. I only included the protection talk in the previous scene because I believe it makes some sex scenes more realistic and believable; Hazel and Gus are not irresponsible teenagers/characters so it would be something they would discuss, would it not?**

**Anyway, that brings me onto my next point: We're nearly done with The Fault In Our Infinities. There's just a few more chapters left and then we're done! Cries. Enjoy! Read and review! And update coming soon!**

"**You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world...but you do have some say in who hurts you."**

* * *

"What's wrong, Hazel Grace?" Augustus asks me as we trudge through the February snow. We got home just two hours ago, surprised to see the blanket of white that covered the country. I'd forgotten that February is generally the season of winter; I'd been too relaxed, bathing in Dubai sun's heat. "You seem quiet."

I shrug. "I have a headache." I tell him honestly and he grips my hand, the warmth of his skin chasing the cold out of my muscles. Dragging my oxygen tank through the thick snow is hard work, and I stop for the millionth time to yank it out from the tangles of frozen twigs, huffing with exertion. Augustus helps me, a rueful smile lifting his lips as he kisses my forehead.

"Come on." I tell him. "The quicker we get to the clinic, the better."

"Oh?" He asks, raising a dark eyebrow. "So you'd rather not spend time with me but hurry the process along?"

I push him lightly, whining playfully. "Gus, I'm tired."

"Jet lag?" He queries, his hands shooting out to grab my arm as I stumble. I give him a grateful smile. He doesn't smile back; his gaze is concerned, worried. I shake him off but he reaches out for me again.

This time, I don't resist as he pulls me close, his hand caressing the line of my jaw as his lips brush against mine. I feel the familiar shoot of pleasure run up my spine and I tremble under his light touch. Instead of the usual happiness, I feel an aching sadness, a depressing fatigue settling over my mind.

"I haven't really gotten much sleep these past few days." I say sheepishly. "I mean, the first night I had jet lag, and I spent the second night with you-"

He hums against my lips, the vibration of the sound spreading over me. "You _certainly_ didn't have much sleep then…" He murmurs, a mischievous edge to his voice.

I don't give him the reaction he's looking for, stepping away slightly. "And now I have another wave of jet lag and I just feel _perpetually exhausted_."

His fingers link through the loops of my jeans as he pulls me close again and my hips brush his, my shiver having nothing to do with the biting cold. His hands move to my arms, rubbing slowly but firmly, the friction heating my skin. I can feel his warm breath sweep over my nose, joining with mine as I shiver. We're so close that I can hear his heart beating, feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against my chest. We kiss again and his tongue brushes over my lower lip, sweet and coaxing. I groan.

"We're going to be late." I exhale as I pull away. He shrugs, entwining his hand in mine as we stroll down the slushy path, the damp of the sludgy snow soaking into our shoes, freezing my toes.

* * *

We reach the clinic – thankfully on time – and I order my pill from the till. Augustus stands behind me as we wait for the cashier to retrieve my order, playing with my oxygen tubing absent-mindedly, occasionally pulling me into an embrace. We get some weird looks from other customers and I know what they're thinking: How is such an attractive boy interested in a pathetic girl with cancer? They're trying to understand our story, to comprehend the twists of fate that could possibly lead to the fixation of the two teenagers – the popular, striking boy and a withered, sickened girl.

Augustus appears oblivious to them, his focus kept solely on me. After a long moment, he seems to realise I'm distracted and he follows my gaze.

"Don't worry about them." He whispers, his lips brushing my ear lobe. "I don't care what other people think."

"Neither do I." I tell him truthfully.

He frowns, confused. "What's the problem, then?" I hesitate and he pushes the question. "Hazel Grace?"

"They're right." I say, eyeing one girl – about my age – who looks at Augustus with a sort of admiring pity. As if she recognises his good looks and thinks they're being wasted.

He glares at the girl and she scurries away. "They're right?" He asks, non-comprehending. "About what…About us being together?"

"That it's a waste."

He draws back now, and I think I see a flash of hurt on his face, echoed in his brilliant blue eyes. "You think our relationship is a waste?"

I shake my head, blinking to clear the tears in my eyes. "No." I say quickly. "No. God, no, Augustus. I love you."

"So…what?"

"So I still don't understand how someone like you could possibly be interested in me. I'm a grenade and-"

"And one day you're going to blow up and you'd like to minimise the casualties blah, I get it." He sighs, his face relaxing as he touches my hair. "I thought we'd gone over this."

The way he looks at me, so tender and affectionate, like he's never even entertained the idea that he could possibly do any better than me…it unravels me and the tears brim in my eyelashes. He strokes his thumb against my cheek, wiping a fallen one.

"What's changed, Hazel Grace?"

"Nothing." I tell him. But it's not exactly true. What's changed is that I have come back down to earth. I spent a perfect few days in Dubai, days where I believed my cancer couldn't touch me, days where I believed I was truly invincible.

But now I've come crashing back down to earth and I realise that my death really is inevitable, and it's creeping towards me, ready to claim me as His own.

"We're all dying, Hazel Grace." Augustus murmurs, his words echoing my thoughts.

"Depression is a side effect of dying." I smile sadly, wiping my eyes. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm sorry."

He kisses me lightly, just a bare brush. "There's no need to be sorry."

The cashier calls my name and I take my pills. She gives Augustus and me a stern look.

"I don't know what your relationship is like but just be warned: unprotected sex leads to pregnancies." She fixes Augustus with a harsh glare. "As much as you may think you are on top of the world, you are in a relationship with a terminally ill patient. You need to wake up and smell the coffee. If she gets pregnant, _two lives_ will be lost as opposed to one. I don't think you want that sort of burden on your shoulder for the rest of your shallow life, no matter how prepared you are now for the inevitable death that's coming."

I gape and Gus winces, sucking in a sharp breath. I've never met anyone so blunt before. Augustus opens his mouth to respond and I catch the wounded look in his blue eyes. He's hurt. It angers me.

"Perhaps it would be easier for all of us if you got off your high horse and kept your nose out of other people's business." My voice is colder than it's ever been before and I touch Gus' elbow, steering him away. He walks dumbly, as though he's in shock. I'm angry at the woman; angry that she's managed to hurt Augustus – who is only ever kind and happy – so deeply. I stand outside the clinic and take the two pills, feeling Gus' eyes on my face.

"Okay?"

I nod. "Okay." I say, bemused by the turn of conversation. Shouldn't I be the one comforting him?

When I mention what she said, he closes his eyes but not before I see the flash of pain. "She was right; we were inconsiderate."

"Perhaps." I say carefully. "But I don't regret it. Do you?" I hold my breath.

"I don't regret anything about you, Hazel Grace." He says, touching my hand reassuringly. "Except perhaps your illness, of course. But we take what life throws us."

"Even if it's death."

"Life always throws death."

"Touché." I concede, pulling him closer. I knot my fingers in his hair, pulling his lips to meet mine. He gasps and I giggle, pulling away.

"Hazel Grace?" He asks, confused.

"That felt weird." When he still seems bewildered, I explain, feeling a blush flow into my cheeks. "You gasped when you kissed me."

He grins, only half-embarrassed.

* * *

We stop by Starbucks on the way back. When the barista asks our names, Gus puts a hand to his chest and says solemnly, "Hazel." And so I say, "A pretentious bastard."

No kidding, the woman put that on the cup.

It starts to snow when we leave the coffee shop, so we hurry back to college, where Mum dropped us straight off from the airport. Classes start early tomorrow so students have to sign in the night before.

The courtyard is a blanket of snow, and snowballs fly left, right and centre. I smile, feeling a thread of deviance wind through me. Augustus doesn't notice when I stop and I quickly take the chance to scoop up a ball of snow and throw it. It hits him square in the back, crumbling to powdered snow, stark white against his dark coat.

He turns, an eyebrow raised, eyeing me with disbelief. "Hazel Grace?"

I bite my lip, sheepish, and he crouches to scoop up his own snowball. I scream and try to run but I've never been much of a runner and my disease prevents me, so when the snow hits my arm I let out a wail, feeling as though it was slightly unfair.

He laughs at my expression so I pick up another and launch it. It hits him in the shoulder, cutting off his laugh. It isn't long before an all-out snow fight is initiated and the two of us throw flurries of snow at each other. I can't run and he doesn't run from me either. It's all fun and games until I hit him in the face.

We stop, staring at each other. I wait for his reaction, watching him swipe the streaks of snow from his face, gasping. He catches my eye and his are disbelieving and mock offended. I don't even have time to shriek before he launches himself at me.

We tumble, and I clutch at him to break my fall. He lands on top of me, his face close to mine. I inhale his scent, clean and masculine, a simple, beautiful aroma.

He brushes his lips against mine – barely – and pulls back, leaving me wanting, wishing for more.

He moves to lie beside me, and I can't help but wonder if the icy snow is biting into his skin like it's biting into mine. I stretch my arms out.

He eyes me warily. "What are you doing?"

"Making a snow angel...I've never done it."

"Are you kidding me?"

I look at him, confused. "What?"

"You've never made a snow angel before?"

I shake my head and then stop, realising it'll make my angel super big-headed. "It's been a wish of mine for a while."

He groans and lifts his head slightly. The movement changes the angle of his body, and the sunlight shines in his eyes, brightening them. Snow dots his mahogany hair, melting across his scalp, making his head damp. "That's your wish?"

"What's wrong with my wish?" I ask, feigning hurt.

"It's so cliché."

"Augustus Waters." I say sternly. "Cliché is good."

"Cliché is...boring." He says but he stretches his arms out beside mine. "You don't look like an angel, right now, Hazel Grace; more like a pancake."

I laugh and stick out my tongue. I feel so young, so childish. I feel like I have no weight on my shoulders. No worries. I'm not troubled with the load of my cancer, my numbered days. I'm free...for a while at least.

I move my arms up and down, feeling the snow pile up against my skin as I push it away. When I'm done, I stand and Augustus helps me hop out of my angel crevasse and we stare down, eyeing our handiwork.

The result is two angels, perfectly shaped, with wings overlapping; it looks like they're joined at the hands. Inseparable.

Gus looks at me, a genuine crooked smile spreading over his face. "There's your wish."

I smile and hug him. His arms wind around my waist and he presses his face into my hair. We're here, now, enjoying the snow, the company of each other; we take whatever life throws us. Cancer, malevolent cousins, snow angels. Anything.

* * *

Classes start the next day. It feels strange, being back. I feel like life should go on differently after the last few days spent with Augustus. I feel like I should feel different somehow, and to an extent, I do. I feel stronger, confident, and happier. But life just goes on around me, the same old, and Kaitlyn is just the same as ever.

"So!" She shouts and I jump as she hops beside me. "Spill. Now. No lame excuses either. I want to hear."

"Hear what?"

She deflates. "Seriously? You have nothing to offer me? I don't believe that."

"I never said I had nothing."

She practically beams, victorious and smug. "You had sex, didn't you? You rode that boy till the sun came up, right?"

"Kaitlyn!" I hiss, glancing side to side to make sure no one heard her. The corridor is busy, but no one stops to gape at us so I assume we got away with it. Blushing furiously, I glare at her.

"What?" She shrugs innocently. "It's a simple question."

"What about you and Isaac?" I counter and when she flushes, I know there's more to the story. I don't get chance to ask further however, as she shakes her head.

"Nuh-uh, you are not changing the subject." Kaitlyn says, overriding my protests. "I want your details before I divulge mine. Come on, girl. Out with the gossip."

I roll my eyes. "Fine." I say, smiling slightly. I'm pleasantly surprised in her interest; I've never had a friend care so much to want to know about my private life. It's a welcome amendment. "We had sex."

"Once?" When I don't answer, she gapes. "_More than once?_ Wow, Hazel, you're some horny chick. You were only there four days."

I slap her, gawking, and she laughs, loud and amused.

"How many times?" She asks, waggling her fingers at me devilishly.

"Only twice."

"Oh, Hazel, that's still two nights out of the three. If you think about it logically, you spent sixty six percent of your time in Dubai fucking your boyfriend. What a divine waste."

I choke, shocked. "That doesn't even make mathematical sense and you know it." I say, outraged. "Besides, who says it's a waste? I can't spend my days climbing mountainous landscapes and walking around the city; I have _freaking lung cancer_. I thought I spent my time in Dubai pretty well, thank you very much."

"Oh, I agree." She accedes. "I'd much rather see how long he can keep his cock up without literally dying than go gallivanting around some city. Sure."

"I think you need to revise the meaning of 'literally', Kaitlyn." I say, but my cheeks are burning. Burning with a defiant passion. "What about you and-"

"Nuh-uh." She repeats. "I want to know where, what positions, what he did. You haven't told me _anything_, Hazel. The suspense is killing me!"

My jaw drops, horrified. "I'm not telling you that."

She looks at me, disappointed. "Fine. At least tell me where."

"In his bed." I say, but I look away. She catches on and her eyebrows climb an inch up her forehead.

"Where else?" She says expectantly.

I sigh. "In the shower."

"Hazel Grace Lancaster, you dirty, filthy, horny girl."

"I actually thought it was pretty clean." I say honestly. "You know, with the water running off and all. There was hardly any stickiness at all."

She laughs and I feel a shoot of pleasure jolt through me at the sound. This is friendship. This is friendship with the girl I've missed. I've missed her laughs, missed her assertive, borderline aggressive, nature. I've missed her passion, her tolerance, her ability to see through my lies. I've missed Kaitlyn, and the thought is both brilliant and miserable. It only shows yet another casualty of my explosion, the result of playing the grenade, the people I will unwittingly hurt.

"So," She says, without any prompt from me. "Isaac is being a complete dick."

Surprised, I only say, "Oh?"

"Yeah, 'oh'." She growls. "He went to Monica's house last week."

"And..."

"And he went the day after I told him how I felt about him."

"Oh dear." I say, cringing slightly. "Guessing that didn't go to plan."

"Oh, no, that went great." She says, brightening slightly. "That went _straight to plan_. We made out, had hot sex but then he ruined it when he fucking pranced off to Monica-the-fucking-whore's house."

"Okay..." I really don't understand. We stop outside my classroom door and I expect her to walk on to her own lesson but she doesn't. She continues talking and I listen attentively. Because that's what friends do, right? Listen to each other's rants.

"So now we're not talking." She says, still in an overly bright tone. "He's called me eight times in the last twelve hours, and sent one hundred and ten text messages before that. _One hundred and ten. _Who does that?"

"Someone who cares?" I say edgily. "Someone who regrets their actions?"

"Bullshit." She shrugs. "I don't care. I'm done anyway. I wash my hands with men and their asshole-y ways. Screw them all."

"Okay..." I say again, but am saved having to truly respond by the bell. I wave goodbye to a sullen, pissed looking Kaitlyn and head into class.

* * *

Augustus is already in his seat when I take mine, his pen twirling between his fingers. He watches me intently as I park up my tank and sit down. I smile at him and begin to write the notes scrawled on the board in front of us.

I manage to count to three before the pen pokes into my spine.

"Hazel Grace, do you remember our alcohol-infused game of truth or dare?"

"It's hazy." I respond.

"Mr. Waters, Miss. Lancaster, I appreciate you passed last term's work despite talking non-stop, but I can guarantee that won't happen again." The teacher interrupted. "The content for this term is more difficult to understand so please stop using all of our _valuable time_ for your idle chit chat."

I blush and Gus nods. "Sure thing." He says sincerely.

I bow my head, touching my pen to paper, with no idea of what to write. I hear the sound of paper ripping behind me and I itch to turn around and have a look, to see what Augustus is doing. The curiosity is killing something inside of me. I can see, in the corner of my eye, students either side of me glancing back to Augustus, an inquisitive expression on their faces. I want to turn around, _need_ to turn around, but the teacher stares at me daringly. _Do it,_ she says. _Do it and I can put you on disciplinary record._

So, miraculously, I manage to keep my head facing the front, the skin on my back prickling with every tear of paper that resounds behind me. I tap my foot impatiently and Augustus chuckles; I know he knows what I want.

When the teacher finally turns around, Augustus leans forward. "Remember you dared me to write something about you and show it to you at a later date?"

Severe interest pricks at my mind and I go to turn to him but the teacher pins me with her glare again and I slouch in my seat, annoyed.

Less than a minute later, a paper plane falls on my desk. I sit up with a start, my hand reaching out to unfold it.

My fingers are surprisingly shaky as I open the note. Truth be told, I had forgotten about the dare, but now I know, I want to see what he wrote all that time ago.

I smooth the paper under my fingers and look down. It's ripped, torn at the edges, as though he ripped it from a larger piece of paper.

_I'm in love with you..._

Barely seconds after I've finished reading, another plane lands.

_And I'm not in the business of denying myself_

And another: _the simpler pleasure of saying true things._

I read over them again and again, and more planes land on my desk. I wait for them all; I wait for them all to land and I open them one after the other, my fingers trembling, my heart racing.

_I'm in love with you..._

_And I'm not in the business of denying myself_

_The simpler pleasure of saying true things._

_I'm in love with you_

_And I know that love is just_

_A shout into the void_

_And that oblivion is inevitable_

_And that we're all doomed_

_And that there will come a day_

_When all our labour has been_

_Returned to dust_

_And I know that the sun_

_Will swallow the only earth_

_We'll ever have, and_

_I am in love with you._

I sit there in shock, reading the words over and over. Augustus makes a small sound of satisfaction and I know that he's done, that he's sent all that he wrote that day in my room, staring at me, mind buzzing with alcohol. I feel a wave of pride. Pride that he managed to think of this, to say this to me, when his brain couldn't even function properly.

Tears well but I do nothing to stop them from falling onto my cheeks. I can feel the weight of my classmates' gazes on me, but they don't know. They don't know the soaring joy, the crushing pain, the intense sadness, the passionate love that swirls inside me, merging with my soul, making my heart beat faster than ever, the waves of beautiful emotions angelic within me.

I spend most of the lesson reading the notes. Reading them over and over and over again. It's the first time, I realise, that Augustus has ever told me he loves me. It's the first time he's ever said the words. Mostly he just responds with kisses and other affectionate gestures.

He loves me and that is the scariest thought. Because it's sealed. The pain is real. I will hurt him and I am his grenade. His hamatia.

Later on, another note is sent. This one isn't torn and the paper is thicker – from his notebook. I smooth it out and read his elegant, beautiful handwriting.

_It's a good life, Hazel Grace. Okay?_

Okay.

* * *

**Don't forget to review. Update coming! LOVE YOU ALL!**


	22. Faulted Eternity

**You've made it this far. This chapter was so hard to write. We're nearly finished with this story, so I'm just going to say this: how you feel about the ending depends on you. It's your choice and you have the right to an opinion and to express that opinion. However, please refrain from taking to the review box just to post hate mail or threats or meaningless, unhelpful insults. It really doesn't make anyone feel better. I'm all ears for constructive criticism, but I won't accept abuse. It's just not fair on me. **

**Anyway, happy reading. It's been a pleasure to experience this with you guys. We have just one or two chapters left. **

"**I'm on a rollercoaster that only goes up, my friend."**

* * *

"I'm not so afraid of it anymore." I say, kicking at an empty popcorn tub. It rolls across the concrete floor and hits the bin, the sound like a gunshot in the silence.

"Of what?"

"Of this." I spread my hands out, gesturing to the soundless, still theme park. The moon shines down on the attraction rides, but the shadowed effect isn't so scary anymore. For me, it's almost peaceful. I imagine the tall rollercoasters and Ferris wheel like guardians of the theme park, protective as opposed to threatening.

"You're starting to see the appeal." Augustus nods. "The serenity is what drew me here. It's comforting. There's no one bothering you; no stress. No worries."

"Except getting caught."

He smirks. "I've been here enough times to know that the security guard never shows up." He says in a low voice. "Personally, I think he's having an affair with one of the ride attendants. She showed up one night whilst he was on duty. He went with her and now he never comes back."

"Creepy." I laugh, just to diffuse the tension.

"He's okay, Hazel Grace." Augustus chuckles. "He just likes to spend his nights having his way with his girl than doing his job."

"Can you blame him?"

The flash of his white teeth shows in the dark as he grins. "If it means I get the park to myself…" He doesn't finish his sentence, only shrugs.

We wander in comfortable silence for a while. I stand on a small wall and balance my way across it, pretending I'm on a tight rope and that one misstep will lead to my death.

"You're wobbling a little." Gus points out, his hand outstretched to take mine if I stumble. He stares up at me, and even in the darkness I can see his blue eyes are bright with affection, drinking me in with the same reverence I feel for him. Augustus and I are more than a couple; we're best friends. That's the way it's supposed to be and I hope it will never change.

I stop suddenly, eyeing the attraction caged by the wall. A tall dark house looms, boarded up by planks of rotting wood and splattered with crimson liquid. Fake blood. The track runs through it, leading into a dark door; it looks ajar. "Gus," I say slowly, a smile curving at my lips. "How do you feel about Ghost Trains?"

"Ecstatic," he says sarcastically, rubbing the back of his neck. "No, really. Truly ecstatic."

"Do you want to go inside?"

"Go inside-" he stops. "Not really, Hazel Grace. Besides, it's locked."

"No, it isn't." I say, jumping off the wall. I drag my tank behind me, keeping my eyes fixed on the dark, looming house before me. "It's a bit of an inaccurate representation, don't you think? That when we die we'll become ghosts or ghouls or misguided, troubled spirits."

"I don't really think about it," he says, swallowing.

I glance at him, eyebrows raised. "You're nervous."

"I'm not particularly a fan of haunted houses, to be fair." He plasters a smile on his face, but his blue eyes shine with anxiety.

"I thought your only fear was oblivion."

He presses his lips together. "I'm not afraid of them, per se, I just…there's something about them that's unsettling."

I shrug and duck under the barriers. It's difficult to pull my tank under, especially when the tubes are almost invisible under the moonlight, but I manage, and I tug the tank onto the tracks, staring at the open door.

"I'm going in. Are you coming?" I look over at him. He stands on the other side of the barriers, staring at me with wide eyes. He runs a shaky hand through his tousled hair and shifts his weight from one foot to another uneasily. I only stare at him, waiting.

Eventually, he shrugs, though the movement is slightly forced, underlying with pent up tension. "Okay," he agrees. "Okay, fine."

He crosses the barrier, vaulting over it lithely and I swallow. The moonlight has cast him in a more angular light and he looks ethereal, otherworldly under the dark glare of the night.

He grips my hand tightly, every muscle in his body taut as we walk the track to the ajar door. I know that inside, looming, darkened figures of monstrous creations will lurk. I'm almost amused, actually, by how disturbed Augustus is. Yet, when I ask one more time if he wants to go in, he nods, tightening his grip on my hand, rolling his shoulders back, his jaw set. He's not changing his mind.

I push open the door and step inside, Augustus slightly behind me. I can hear his harsh breathing behind me, shallow and quick, echoing off the hollow walls of the attraction. My pulse is loud in my ears, blood crashing in my veins. My mind thrives on the adrenaline, adrenaline I never would have felt before. I turn the first corner, following the tracks and Augustus jumps.

"It's just a mirror." I tell him, unable to hide my giggle.

"I'm on edge," he says, rolling his eyes, "to say the least."

"I did say you didn't have to come."

He doesn't respond, but I guide him further into the house. The clang of metal beneath my feet is deafening in the silence, the groan of the track reverberating off the walls. I wet my lips, my nerves set on edge by the tall, ominous figures hidden in the shadowy alcoves of the house. It's one thing going through a Ghost Train whilst it's running in the full daylight, but it's a whole other ballgame to venture inside at midnight, in the pitch darkness. The silence is eerie.

"Um," Augustus clears his throat. "Hazel, uh…did it – perhaps – occur to you that the door on the other side of the house may be locked?"

I swallow, feeling the fear rise within me. The place is creepy, and Augustus' tension-filled aura puts me on edge, and makes me jump at every emerging shadow.

"Nope." I say, a little too brightly. "But that's okay, because we know the entrance door is unlocked."

"So you're saying we may have to walk back through this to get out?"

I jump as the hoot of an owl whistles through the silence. "Yes." I say, swallowing the rising panic. "That's _exactly_ what I'm saying."

"You know," he mutters, "we could always leave now."

"No." I say, despite my body screaming at me for saying the word. "No. I want to see this through."

"Why are you so stubborn?" He shakes his head and I can't help the laugh that escapes my throat. The sound diffuses the tension slightly and I feel the muscles in my shoulders start to relax. The headless creatures and grotesquely marred corpses aren't so bad, really. When I mention this to Gus, he laughs mirthlessly.

"You're crazy."

"Even you have to admit that they're not so bad when you pretend they're not evil corpses lurking in the midnight shadows."

He shrugs, half-conceding. "Fear of fear only increases the fear felt."

I don't try to wrap my head around that one, only walk on, my free hand running across the cold, metal bars of the display cages. I can vaguely make out the shape of a tortured head on a spike, and a burnt, rotted zombie swooping from the ceiling. I try not to pay too much attention to it. We reach another door and I push on it lightly. It dislodges and I look at Augustus. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out his features, but I can see by the flash of his teeth that he smiles nervously. I can imagine he's looking slightly green.

"It's open." I murmur and the hairs on the back of my neck rise as a shiver runs down my spine. I push on the door and Augustus speaks.

"Are you sure you want to carry-"

A shadow moves.

I duck and scream, unable to contain the terrified sound as it rips from my throat. Augustus shouts with alarm and covers me with his body as the shadow lunges towards us, sweeping just over our heads, hiding in the canopy of an overhead alcove.

I look up through half-closed eyes. My heart pounds in my chest and my lungs twinge with the effort required to breathe faster. My nerves are alight, pulsing alongside the adrenaline and fear in my veins and I breathe in and out to slow my racing heart.

"Motion activated. The sensor must still work even when the Train is shut down." Augustus gasps. "Son of a bitch."

"I'm done." I say, stepping back. The fear climbs up my spine and I know that soon I'll be paralysed by it, incarcerated by the horror I inflicted upon myself. "Let's get out of here."

I let him guide me out, my eyes almost closed. I don't want to see the shadows anymore. I don't want to see the darkness or the corpses or the grotesque body parts and creatures of horror. I don't want to fall prey to another motion sensor, or have anything else jump out at me unexpectedly.

The journey back to the entrance feels longer than before, and I can't tell if that's because I'm constantly checking behind me, peering into the shadows, or if I have lost perception of real time, fixed by my fear.

Eventually, the luminous shine of moonlight gleams through the crack between the entrance doors. Augustus lunges his weight against it and we stagger out, the both of us sweating, panting, drenched in our own fear.

"Hazel Grace," Augustus breathes as we duck under the barriers and our feet hit the solid, concrete ground of the theme park. I welcome the cool air, letting it chase away the panic within me. "Let's not do that again. In fact, remind me _never_ to follow any of your crazy plans ever again."

I laugh, relieved that we're safe, and then I just can't stop. I giggle hysterically into his shoulder as he leans against a picnic bench, watching me ludicrously. My hysterics cannot be tamed and soon there are tears running over my cheeks, tears of relief and mirth and ease.

"You're doing that thing again."

"What?" I gasp in between bouts of laughter.

"That thing when you giggle uncontrollably over nothing and don't bother to explain why afterwards."

I shake my head and shrug. I can feel the relief in his stance; feel the relaxation in his shoulders. He lifts my chin and presses his lips to mine. I can taste salt and sugar on his lips at the same time and bizarrely the combination thrills me. I kiss him back and then hold him, letting the remnants of my fear drain away from my body as we cling to each other in the theme park, far away from the haunted house cast into shadow by the unwavering darkness.

* * *

I sit in the shared kitchen, on the counter, kicking my oxygen tank subconsciously. Augustus leans against my side, his hand on my knee, gazing out the window. Just the small point of contact between us is enough to boil the blood in my veins, ignite my nerves and send my thoughts into a spiralling turmoil. I clear my throat as Kaitlyn stalks in, slamming the door behind her. I sit up straighter and frown.

"Kaitlyn, what's wrong?"

"Your friend is an asshole." She hisses before she stalks to the mug cupboard and begins to violent make herself a cup of ludicrously strong coffee. She flicks the kettle on to boil.

"Isaac?" I ask, glancing at Augustus questioningly. He shrugs in answer to my unspoken query.

She throws up her hands and paces the kitchen. "So I've had Monica on my back for fucking weeks because I spend a lot of time with Isaac and she doesn't like it."

I remember Monica slamming me into the lockers when I first arrived at the college and nod in understanding. "Jealous," I say and she nods. At least that explains why Monica has left me alone since the last incident. She realised I wasn't a threat.

"I hit her."

"You what?" I choke.

She waves me away. "Details, details. She doesn't fuck with me anymore. Anyway, that's not why I'm mad."

"Okay…" I say slowly, not quite comprehending.

"So, I went and asked Isaac why he went over Monica's after we, you know, had furiously hot sex on my couch."

Augustus raises his hands, grimacing. "Could we keep it moderately decent? I don't really want the mental image that comes with explicit descriptions."

Kaitlyn ignores him. "Do you know what he said? Do you know what that bastard said to me?"

I raise my eyebrow. "Evidently not."

"He said: 'I just needed to clear my head and figure out what I wanted.'" She stops pacing and tips the kettle rather hastily over her cup. Boiling hot water splashes over the counter. Augustus pulls a face. "Can you believe that? _He_ needs to figure out what _he_ wants? After we fucked each other?"

"Again with the visuals." Augustus mutters, tracing a spiral pattern on my knee with his thumb.

"Augustus, darling," Kaitlyn smiles, a sickly, too-sweet smile. "You're of the male species. Tell me, what the fuck do you think was going through his mind?"

Augustus seems bemused to be put on the spot. "Um…He's Isaac, Kaitlyn. I'm not sure anyone can tell you."

The door crashes open and everyone – who has come to watch the drama from the seating area in the dining room – jumps. It's Isaac, looking flustered, his blonde hair a tousled mess. His eyes flit around the kitchen momentarily before landing on Kaitlyn, and the tension in his shoulders relax.

"Kaitlyn, I…"

She turns and hisses at him, a pent up imprisonment of rage and fury. "I am so _sick to death_ of hearing your shit, Isaac. If you're still in love with Monica, then fucking tell her. I'm done with you."

Isaac looks taken aback. "I…"

Kaitlyn stalks him, pushing at his chest. I can see the film of tears over her eyes and I feel a pang of shock jolt through me. Kaitlyn _never_ cries.

"Go on!" Kaitlyn pushes at him again, but the movement is feeble. "Tell her. Tell her you want to be with her still. Better yet, tell _me_ you want to be with her and I'll back off. I'll never speak to you again. That's what you want, isn't it? To grovel to Monica and rid yourself of me-"

Isaac grabs her, his head ducking until their lips meet, a ferocious, fiery passion almost sparking visibly between them. I avert my eyes, and feel Augustus chuckle soundlessly beside me. The other spectators in the room turn away and continue with what they were doing before. I bite my lip and Augustus tenses. I look at him, wondering what's wrong. But he's not paying attention to me. He's looking at his phone. His gaze lifts to the window behind me, his blue eyes darkening with an undecipherable emotion.

"I don't want Monica." Isaac says quietly to Kaitlyn when they break apart. He touches her face, his other hand tangled in her black hair. "Monica has been a nuisance for weeks, Kaitlyn, a medium through which I can strike up conversation with you. I hated her for what she did to me. Hated how she used me and dumped me. I hated how she hurt me."

"Excuse me for a moment." Augustus murmurs as he shifts away from me. I watch him leave the kitchen with a frown.

"But then you came along and you were everything she wasn't. You are honest and brave and sincere. You know what you want in life. You were a welcome distraction, but now you're more than that. And, ironically, I realise that in endorsing in you as a welcome distraction from Monica, it is Monica that has become an _unwelcome_ distraction from you. I'm in love with you, Kaitlyn. And I'm so sorry that I hurt you."

Kaitlyn wipes at her face and laughs nervously. "You're still an asshole."

He spreads his hands wide. "I never claimed innocence."

Her laugh grows and she throws herself into him, her arms encircling his waist, her head on his shoulder. He sighs and the relief is apparent in his posture. I clear my throat and step down.

"I should probably go and find Gus."

"I almost didn't notice he'd left." Kaitlyn says absently, still staring at Isaac.

"No..." I say quietly, wondering where he could have gone.

* * *

I crash out of the main entrance door, yanking my tank down the steps as I stumble into the car park. I just see the edge of Augustus' silhouette against the wall to my left before he disappears out of sight. I growl and rush forward, almost running despite the searing heat in my lungs.

I hear a muffled thump, a groan and the crackle of gravel as someone falls and then scrambles back up again. I turn the corner-

It's Zac Waters.

He hasn't noticed me. He's too busy throwing punches at Augustus, whose eyes are hard with the ice of anger. Gus brings his knee up into his abdomen and Zac groans, doubling over. Augustus takes the opportunity to throw a hard, unyielding punch to his face. Zac falls, and clambers back up again. He throws a hasty, hidden blow to Augustus head and Gus, who doesn't see it, reels back as the force hits his face. Already, I can see the pinkish outline of a bruise form above his cheekbone and blood streams from his nose. I swallow and stagger forward, my stomach lurching.

"Stop it! Stop fighting, right now!" I don't look at Zac; I can't bear to. I can't tear my gaze away from Augustus' injured face, and the bile that rises up my throat is the product of the hatred I feel for Zac.

"The bastard deserves everything that's coming to him," Augustus growls, spitting bloody saliva on the ground. I go to him, press my palm against his bicep calmingly, but he shakes me off. "He hurt you, Hazel Grace."

I turn to Zac, ignoring the jitter of terror that runs up my spine as I take him in. His cold, grey eyes are the same, sparked only with anger and bloodlust.

"Why are you out?" I ask, and my voice is calmer than I feel. "Didn't they arrest you?"

"I'm on bail." He spits.

"You _broke_ bail." I point out. "You're here and you're not supposed to be."

"Couldn't resist tormenting my baby cousin here." He smiles, and his lip splits. Blood runs down his chin and I turn away, disgusted.

"Gus, come on." I say coaxingly. "Leave him alone. He's not worth it. I'm okay, see?" I hold my hands out, hating having my back to Zac.

A shadow lurches over us and I hear Isaac gasp. "Gus," He exhales. "Don't do it, man. Come on. Calm down."

"He hurt Hazel Grace." Augustus takes another step forward and Zac motions for him to come closer, his weight shifting daringly. Isaac's gaze flickers to me and he grimaces.

"I'm over-aware that I said those very words a few months ago about Monica, and share the irony that we've switched roles, Augustus, so do me a favour and _take your own advice._ Back off." Isaac says, edging closer to Gus, who looks tightly coiled, as if he's ready to spring. "You don't need the trouble."

I see the defeat in his eyes before his shoulders slump. Isaac's words make some sense; the last thing Augustus needs is assault on his criminal record. He steps back and I hear Zac give a low, victorious chuckle.

"Pathetic." He laughs and anger boils inside me. "This was too easy. Really."

I turn around and glare at him, all the fury, pain and fear rising within me like a tsunami, until it crashes down on me and I hiss, "Go fuck yourself."

I kick him in the groin.

The blood rushes from his face and he crunches, his back arching forward as he drops to his knees, groaning. I turn away from him, feeling a sense of gratification and justice. Augustus stares at me, his hand cupped underneath his nose, catching the stray droplets of blood, his eyes wide. I smile sickly and take his other hand.

"I'm not going to pretend that didn't feel real good." I say. "Because it did."

Isaac lets his breath out in a whistle. "Hazel Grace Lancaster, you are one dirty fighter."

I shrug and walk away. Augustus comes with me without resistance, and Isaac tags along, laughing under his breath, muttering, "that shot was _fantastic_," over and over again.

For the first time in my life, I feel badass and it's a completely welcome feeling.

* * *

It is a good life. Really. It throws problematic issues, challenges of our personality, but it is good. It takes a few weeks for Augustus' broken nose to heal, and he seems to permanently suffer with dark shadows under his eyes, making him appear sullen and miserable, but he's not. He smiles more and laughs every time I tell the story of Zac's fall to Kaitlyn. I don't see Zac again; I have a sneaking suspicion Isaac called the Police and they have taken him back into custody. I know that even if he doesn't get jailed for his sexual abuse, he won't come near me again. I beat him, and he's not likely to come crawling back for more.

"_V for Vendetta_." Augustus says, climbing into my bed. "It's on TV."

"So?"

"So…I'm not changing the channel." He smirks and reclines back, putting his arm around my shoulders. My lungs ache and my head pounds and I'm so tired that I can already feel my eyelids drooping but I still manage to smile. "We'll watch it again, for old times."

"They're not really old times." I say quietly, wincing as my chest twinges. "It was really only four months ago. Relatively new, if you ask me."

"And I'm hoping we have more time," he says simply, "because I'm not bored of you yet, Hazel Grace, and I love you and I really would like to watch _V for Vendetta_ again so I can admire how similar you and Natalie Portman look."

"We don't look remotely similar." I say, as the opening scene of the movie comes on. Augustus looks from me to the screen, his eyebrows drawn with thought.

"Nope," he says, agreeing with me. "You're right. I can see it now."

"You can?"

"Hazel Grace Lancaster," he announces with a flourish of his hand, "you are infinitely more beautiful than Natalie Portman."

I shove him playfully, smiling goofily. "Infinitely?"

"Infinitely." He confirms. "Some infinities are bigger than other infinities." He touches my cheek and kisses me lightly. I sigh and he pulls back, touching my hair affectionately. "Stop distracting me from the movie."

I laugh, tiredness seeping in as I relax against the pillows, my hand resting against his chest. We're silent for a moment.

"I love you so much." I whisper.

If it wasn't for the disruption of his breathing, I would have thought he didn't hear me. But he does and eventually, he murmurs, "I love you too, Hazel Grace.

Sleep claims me.

* * *

It is true, what Augustus says, that some infinities are bigger than other infinities. And when I wake up at two o'clock in the morning, feeling as though someone has just rammed a white hot blade through my chest, drowning in my own bodily fluids as I try desperately to draw in air, I think it's true.

As Augustus Waters sees me suffer as my lungs collapse and my BiPap machine beeps urgently, warning of my imminent death, it's completely true.

As tragedy strikes us in the heart and forces me under the ever-pressing hospital machines that are supposed to save your life, and I can hear Augustus shouting outside to the nurses, demanding to see me, I realise it's true:

_Some infinities are bigger than other infinities._

I can feel oblivion, creeping up on me, and I feel so tired and weak and I know that I'm dying and that this is the last hurdle of life and that perhaps there will be something on the other side and that I won't be left with the horrible thought of watching Gus grieve my death. I can hear the nurses shout around me. I can feel the pain dulling and I know that's it's not a good sign, that it means I'm losing my senses, that it means my body is slowing giving up on my soul, but I can't bring my lungs to fight against the cancer that owns them. They've fought for so long. It's a civil war, with a predetermined winner and _I will lose._

My parents are here. I see them in the blur of my agony-filled, tear brimming gaze. They cry hysterically and I don't understand why they're so upset…didn't they expect this? I've been outlasting death for so long and now His Scythe is coming down. Did they believe in a miracle that might change what fate has already decided? Did they really think I'd be that one person who'd survive cancer, that I'd outlast death forever, survive life? I am no mark. I am no different. I am just another sacrifice to cancer. Pretend as we might that it is not that way, it is, and we are just nobodies in the revolutionary turn of evolution. A mistake. A replication error. Well, I'm about to fixed by Death Himself.

"You can let go now." I hear Mum sob. "You don't have to be in pain anymore. You can let go now, Hazel. If you want to make the pain go away. We won't be mad."

They think the pain will go away with my death. They think the agony I feel is purely physical. They don't know the truth; that the anguish I feel isn't just physical but mental, too. And all I can see is Augustus' face, and hear his voice, and read his words:_ I am in love with you and I know that love is just a shout into the void and that oblivion is inevitable…_

It is true. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities. And some infinities are faulted. _The fault in our infinities define us._ And Augustus and I are doomed to our faulted eternity.

* * *

**Please review…Update soon…**


	23. Last Goodbye

**I'm sorry.**

* * *

_When you said your last goodbye_

_I died a little bit inside_

_I lay in tears in bed all night_

_Alone without you by my side_

_..._

_So you bought out the best of me_

_A part of me I'd never seen_

_You took my soul and wiped it clean_

_Our love was made for movie screens_

_..._

_But if you loved me_

_Why'd you leave me?_

_Take my body_

_Take my body_

_All I want is_

_And all I need is_

_To find somebody_

_I'll find somebody_

_ - Kodaline_

* * *

I hear them say it. The doctors. I'm dying.

I already know that, of course. The words have immersed themselves into all my memories. They border the images of my childhood, they're engraved into the pictures of my teenage days, they're the music behind my time at college. The words run on repeat; I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying.

I told myself once, when the pain became too much, that I wouldn't let myself forget. I would remember it always – that I am a walking corpse. I wouldn't get too comfortable with life, because mine is so short that I cannot truly live it.

I float in and out of consciousness for a few days. Breathing is difficult, but the doctors alleviate the load from my chest – they feed me oxygen through a tube, but it's not much use. My lungs are fighting helplessly against an already victorious cancer. It's a civil war with a predetermined winner.

I hear Mum and Dad weep at my bedside a few times. They're afraid of losing their only child; their daughter. They're afraid of the time when they won't be parents anymore. That's the thought that kills me inside. My mum is the type of person who always needs to be looking after someone; who will she have when I am gone?

I don't see Augustus for a while. They don't let him in.

When I wake, he's the first person I ask to see. It hurts my parents, I think, but they understand. He's the only person on my mind, the only name on my lips.

He steps in, looking haggard. He wears a baggy grey hooded jacket and it's zipped up to his chin, his hands in his pockets. I hate how much he has let his own pride slip. His shoulders are slumped and his blue eyes are dark with a sadness so profound that I have to look away.

"Hi," he says eventually, his voice croaky. "How're you feeling?"

"One week."

"What?"

"I have one week." I don't show him my sadness; I don't cry. He needs to think that I'm strong, that I fought cancer bravely and with unwavering persistence. That's what all the stories say, right? That's what I should do.

I hear him suck in a sharp breath. He runs a hand through his lank, dark hair and I see his lip wobble slightly. "One...one week."

"Seven days, Gus." I confirm. "Maybe less."

He nods, the movement exaggerated. I think he's trying to show me that he can cope with the pain, but I know he can't. I can see it in his eyes, in the tiny tremble of his hands, in the restless shift of his weight. He can't accept my death, despite telling me before that he could.

"I wish we had forever," he tells me now, clutching my hand. We haven't said much; there isn't much to say. "So we could fall in love some more."

I close my eyes against the fresh wave of misery. "Forever is an incorrect concept."

"You're an incorrect concept."

I smile at him, partially because he speaks the same words I said to him at the reception, but mostly because it's true. I _am_ an incorrect concept.

"Does it hurt?" He asks me, his eyes flickering over my face worriedly. "Having cancer?"

I shake my head and grit my teeth, feeling the lie burn my throat as if I'd uttered it aloud.

He swallows. "I can't wrap my head around it," he whispers, his voice small. "I thought we had more time."

"That's the very thing we both knew we didn't have." I remind him, "Time. I'm a grenade...cancer has just pulled the pin."

He exhales and a tear slips down his cheek. I reach for him and wince as my chest twinges with the agony of the movement. I wipe the teardrop from his cheek with my thumb. "I can't tell you how thankful I am, Gus. For you."

"Do you remember what I said on the cliff?" He murmurs, his hand placed over mine against his face. "You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, Hazel Grace, but you do have some say in who hurts you...I like my choices. I hope you like yours."

"I do, Augustus," I say. "I do."

My chest hurts and it's not from the ache of cancer. This is the sting of goodbye. I draw him closer and kiss his lips lightly, and pull back sooner than I like. I take a deep breath of air and try to ignore the jab of pain in my lungs as I do so.

"What is it?" He touches my arm gently. "You're trying to tell me something."

I let out my breath in a whoosh and the words spill out against my will. "I don't want you to come back after today."

He just looks at me, and the blood drains from his face. "Hazel," his voice cracks, "Hazel, don't ask that of me."

"Please." I can't help my tears now. "I can't let you watch me die."

"I don't want to waste these last few days, these last precious moments."

I steel my resolve and look at him. "I don't want you to see me die." I say again. "Can't you honour my request? Please?"

His eyes scan my face, and I know he is trying to do what I am doing to him; he is committing my body to memory, so that in four or five months or years, he can bring forth my recollection without forgetting inconsequential yet meaningful details like the exact shade of my eyes, or the curve of my fingers clutching at his. I don't know why I try to remember him. I suppose I do it in the vain hope that there is something else beyond death, that I'll get a chance to reflect.

"I love you, Hazel Grace," he says, and his lip trembles as his eyes pool with unshed tears. "I love you and will always love you. I will love you when I graduate and get a new job. I will love you when I hang up my first encouragement in my first home, when I'm lying sick on my couch. I will love you when I grow old and die. Even if oblivion faces me, I will not stop loving you. You have taught me _so much._ I can't imagine going on without you..." his voice dies as he struggles to contain himself. I just sit there; my pain has turned me into a sculpture of stone, of ice, frozen with grief.

"You gave me forever-"

"Don't say it, Hazel Grace." He interrupts, shaking his head. "I can't hear it."

I place my finger over his lips – I have to say it. He watches me, his blue eyes watery with pure agony and unfiltered grief.

I keep my voice low and clear. "Augustus Waters, you gave me forever within the numbered days," I pause, "and I can't tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity."

He breaks down then, the tears flowing freely down his face. He bows his head over my bed, crying into my sheets as I stroke his hair, my face dry. I have no more tears to offer death now. No more pain to feel. I've had my share and now I am empty and hollow.

I wish people could see the truth behind Augustus Waters. Too often, he is thrown into the stereotype of a superficial teenage boy. But he's so much more than that. This pitiable image of undignified weeping shows me that. The agonizing ache in my chest tells me that. We are two halves of one whole, and the pain we feel is the pain of us being ripped apart. We are a broken entity.

"Cancer wins, Gus." I whisper and he looks up and dries his eyes. The misery is there; God knows, that won't go away. But he looks stronger, more resolved. I look to the door sadly, feeling the inevitable rise within me.

"There's an encouragement on my wall," he says suddenly. "It reads: 'Everything will be okay in the end. If it's not okay, it's not the end.'"

I'm quiet for a moment. "It's a lie. A lie fed to the living to motivate them to live. This isn't okay," I say, gesturing to the hospital room hopelessly, "but it _is_ the end."

Augustus nods. He understands. He stands up and lets out a long breath. "Days. You have days left." He can't seem to comprehend it.

"And some people have years and others have hours." I respond, my voice surprisingly steady. "Life throws death, remember?"

His lips twitch as he smiles slightly. But then his face crumples and when he speaks, I struggle to hear him. "I wish I could take care of you."

I look down, at the sheets clenched in my fists. I wrestle with my emotions until I feel numb again. When I speak, my words are barely a whisper. "You already have."

He stands there, his hand on the doorknob, watching me. We just look at each other. I am deafened by the words neither of us is saying.

Eventually, he opens the door and takes a step forward. A rise of panic surges within me. This is it. The last time. The final goodbye.

"Gus," I call out, though I don't know why. He turns back, watching me steadily, but warily, as though he is afraid of the words that might come out of my mouth, afraid of the pain they will cause him. But he should know. "You'll be the last person I think of. The last thing I see. I swear. Okay?"

He doesn't say anything. He just nods, swallows, and leaves, the door closing behind him, echoing the note of finality between us.

* * *

_Augustus Waters_

"Okay." I say now, sat in my car outside the theme park, the tears streaming down my face. I bang the steering wheel, angry. Why didn't I say it to her? She could be dead tomorrow. Why didn't I say it to her? "_Okay."_ I say again, striking the wheel with each word. "Okay, okay, _okay!"_

The pain is too much. The agony of losing her is strong, and a tide of anger has whipped its way through me, leaving me shaken to my core.

"She could be dead tomorrow." I whisper. My forehead rests against the hub of the steering wheel as I sob. I cry hard, ugly, wracking sobs.

_The clock ticks._

"It's not fair." I breathe through my tears, my chest aching and my head pounding. "Life throws death, huh, Hazel Grace? That's not true. Life throws _life_. You just chose to accept death."

The horn sounds and I jump, cutting the noise off when I lift my head. "You just chose death." I murmur again. I can't think clearly, and my vision is a blur. _"Why did you leave me?"_

I know that anger is a natural form of grief, and that I surely am grieving Hazel Grace. She's not dead, but she might as well be. I can't see her, I can't feel her, I can't be with her. She's gone.

I get out of the car and slam the door behind me, the sound like a gunshot in the night's air. It's raining hard, and I become drenched quickly. I climb the gates, my hands slipping on the metal bar, but I persevere and hoist myself over, landing on the theme park soil with a dull thump.

I see the rollercoaster up ahead. I remember sitting there with her, watching the world. That was the first time I realised just how much she meant to me, the first time she told me she loved me. I remember observing her, picking up her beautiful traits. Like the way she played with her cannula when she was deep in thought, or the way she wrung her fingers when nervous.

Instead of heading over to the rollercoaster, I turn left, and approach the Ferris Wheel. It's a familiar sight; I climb the frame often and sit in the small balcony of a pod when I need time to think alone.

Alone.

I don't want to be alone. I want to be with Hazel Grace. It's a childish want, really, when the world is dying, wars are lasting and children are starving. But I've never wanted anything more than I want her, right now. I want to hold her. One last time, at least. I want to tell her it's going to be okay.

It's not okay. None of this is okay. But it's nice to be told that is.

_The clock ticks._

I touch the metal bar lightly, feeling the raindrops fall from my hair at the back of my neck down my back, following the path of my spine. It's cold, but welcome. It serves as a reminder that I can still feel more than the pain I do. That I have capacity to be more than the sorrow that has become me.

_Cancer wins._

"Well, good for you." I growl. "You stole the love of my life." I open my arms and tip my head back, the rain falling on my face. "You win, Cancer. Are you happy now?"

My arms drop and my shoulders sag. My voice quietens. "Are you happy now?"

I wonder what she would say, if she saw me like this. A dangerous mix of anger and sorrow, of pain and agony bone deep within me. Would she pity me? Join me? Console me?

I don't know. There are many things I don't know about Hazel Grace Lancaster. Many things I ought to know.

"I wish we had more time, Hazel Grace." I say out loud, to the night that serves as witness to my torture. "I love you so much."

The world, apparently, is not a wish-granting factory.

_The clock ticks._

So I grab onto the Ferris Wheel bar, my hands slipping slightly on the wet, metal frame. I spot the pod I want to reach and start to climb. The rain continues to pound on me, and I am so cold with the damp that I can feel my teeth jittering together harshly. It doesn't take me long to climb – I have done it many times before.

I duck under the rail of the pod and sit, flexing my fingers. They're numb. _I'm_ numb.

I reflect. That's what you're supposed to do when in grief, right? Go through a phase of time spent wishing for the future, regretting the little time of the past. So I go through the motions; for Hazel Grace if not for myself.

My thoughts _do_ dwell on our future – or lack of it. I try to imagine a time without her illness. Try to picture a life where Cancer isn't an intervening third party, darkening our moments and tainting our love. We could have grown older. She could have helped pick out our first encouragement for our house. We could get old, fight over ridiculous things like the dirty washing, or creases in my shirt, or buying the jam of the flavour she hates. We could have had kids – two, perhaps. Watched them grow older, cry over broken relationships or failed friendships, laugh over a bad joke of mine, or Hazel's clumsiness. We could have guided them to become good people of their own.

But now we can't. Because my other half is gone. Or soon to be.

Soon it won't be Augustus Waters and Hazel Grace Lancaster. It'll become Augustus Waters and – nothing. An empty space where her name used to be.

I hold my head in my hands, trying to fight back the tide of agony that washes through me – or embrace it; I am not so sure which. All I know is that this is pain and claiming anything less would be lying.

_The clock ticks. _

If it's not okay, it's not the end. It's not the truth, of course. I lie back, feeling the metal grate against my back, ice cold. The murky clouds are shaded with the night's sky. I can't see the moon. I can't see any light in this dark place of insanity. I'm losing my freaking mind.

I spend a long time up in the pod of the Ferris Wheel, pondering over morbid thoughts and wishing life wasn't so cruel and that I could have Hazel Grace lie next to me, hold my hand, kiss my lips, and tell me she is going to stay forever. I need her here. But she never will be.

"If you loved me," I say, my voice empty, "Why'd you leave me?"

_The clock ticks. Seconds now._

When I get up to leave, I notice the rain once more. Tiny, sparkling droplets coat the metal frame, casting it into an eerily beautiful light. It brings out the only hint of a smile I've had all evening. Beauty can express itself in the strangest of ways.

_Three..._

I put my foot on the first rung, gripping hard on the cold bar above. I descend slowly, and with care. I concentrate on my footing, but I can hardly see through the rain that falls, hard, on my body.

_Two..._

I concentrate, but apparently it's not enough. Nothing ever is in this world. My hand slides off the bar and I feel myself slip from the frame, my body falling in an expanse of nothing, flailing, lost in the ocean of space. I open my mouth to shout, but no sound comes out. I'm alone. I'm always alone.

_One..._

I feel a rush of air and I know what's coming. The inevitable oblivion. In that split second before I hit the ground and the blackness claims me, the terror consumes me, raw and intense.

My last thought is of her. She's the last person I see.

* * *

**The final chapter is coming.**


	24. Hail Oblivion

_We know full well there's just time,_

_So is it wrong to dance this line?_

_If your heart is full of love,_

_Could you give it up?_

_..._

_How unfair, it's just our love,_

_Found something real that's out of touch._

_But if you searched the whole wide world,_

_Would you dare to let it go?_

_..._

_What about, what about angels?_

_They will come, they will go, make us special._

_Don't give me up._

_Don't give me up._

_- Birdy_

* * *

_Hazel Grace Lancaster_

I slip in and out of consciousness over the next few hours. Night falls and it starts to rain hard, the drops pattering against the window. It's the only thing that punctures my awareness. The pain drives deep and I use the distraction of the rain patterns on the windows to absorb me while I wait for it to subside.

The next morning, my vision blurs and doesn't refocus. The doctors told me last night that they received the results of all my tests and it's confirmed; the cancer has spread. I lit up like a Christmas tree. It's everywhere. I am cancer and my cancer is me.

I blink slowly, not used to the hazy eyesight. That's when I notice the commotion outside. I spot my parents and Augustus' parents. They all clutch each other, my parents dry-eyed, Augustus' hysterical. I watch them with the air of someone who watches ants build their nest – vaguely interested but not so. I guess that's a side effect of dying – disinterest.

Eventually, I see a doctor try and separate Mr. and Mrs. Waters away from Mum and Dad, dragging them down the corridor. My parents talk outside my room, their heads bent together, whispering. Their eyes flicker to me a lot and I wonder what they're talking about. They're stressed – maybe there was something unexpected in my results. After a small while, they enter my room, shutting the door with a heavy, wearied sigh. Mum turns to me first and she closes her eyes, but not before I see the flash of regret, the expression of a mother who has to tell her daughter some bad news.

"What?" I ask, my throat dry. I haven't spoken to anyone since Gus left last night. "What's happened?"

"Honey," Mum sits down beside my bed and clutches my hand. I watch her, confused.

"Fran," says Dad, and there's something of a warning in his tone. My gaze switches to him and I bite my lip, a feeling of alarm washing through me. Something's changed. Something's different.

"What's happened?" I say again, more urgently this time. "Tell me."

"Hazel, sweetheart," Dad says, as he approaches my bed warily, as though he is approaching a tiger. "There's been an accident."

A weight drops in my stomach and my head tips back. I hear ringing and the sound of screaming deep within me. "No."

"Augustus trespassed the theme park, last night." Mum says quietly. I know what's coming. I don't want to hear it. "You told me before that he likes to think in the Ferris Wheel, right?"

"No." I say again. "No, no, this isn't happening."

A tear slips down her face. "We weren't going to tell you, Hazel. We didn't want you to...die...distressed."

"Where is he?" I ask, searching for the answer in their faces. "How hurt is he?"

"Hazel," Dad starts, "he fell from a great height."

"_How hurt is he?"_

I turn to face Mum, watch her tears slide down her face. "I'm so sorry, Hazel," she whispers, "he's dead."

* * *

I am defeated.

The rest of their words fade away as I sag against the bed, all the fight, all the energy drained from me. _Raining. Slippery. He fell. Ferris Wheel. Ten stories high. Head injury. Found this morning. Pronounced dead at the scene. Suspected suicide._

I can't think through the gathering of noise.

I'm quiet but I put my hands against my ears. I'm quiet, but it's the calm of the storm before it hits. The tears roll down my face unchecked and my heart thuds in my chest. I wish it would thud faster, thud the rest of my life away.

"That's the thing about pain. It demands to be felt." I say as though no one can hear me. I suppose no one can. No one else can feel the pain I feel now. "_I_ was supposed to die."

"Hazel..."

I close my eyes and my shoulders slump. "Go away. Please." My voice cracks and I turn away from them.

I see them hesitate but then they get up and head for the door. My Dad squeezes my shoulder but I pull away from him. No amount of comfort is going to make this okay. My soul is dying. My body is dying.

"We'll check on you in ten minutes, Hazel." Mum says, but I know what she really says. _Don't do anything stupid._

All I see is darkness now. Darkness and disbelief.

When they close the door behind them, I swing my legs over my bed and mess with the wires and tubes that attach to me. Some of them are too fiddly and I grow impatient. I yank them out, howling with pain, watching as the blood drips from the open wounds and run down my arms and chest. My eyes hurt. My chest hurts more. My heart hurts most.

"_It wasn't supposed to be him!"_ I wail as I yank on another tube, splashing blood onto my hospital gown and knocking the machine over. "It was supposed to be _me!"_ I'm hysterical, an uncontrollable mass of pain. I thought it wasn't possible to feel more agony than I felt last night, but I was wrong. _This_ is agony. A tsunami of dread and panic and fear, battering me with its force, until I feel like I'm drowning in my own turmoil of suffering.

Augustus Waters is gone from the world. There's no life left for him to live.

"He _didn't_ kill himself!" I shout, my lungs screaming in protest. I don't know who I am shouting to – I suppose to whoever listens. If anyone, at all. "I know Augustus Waters. He would never kill himself."

He gripped onto life too much; shone too brightly to be extinguished by his own grief. He fell. It was an unintended disaster and not a design wielded by his pain. _He did not kill himself._

_I'm in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void and that oblivion is inevitable..._

_I love you and will always love you..._

_I will love you when I grow old and die..._

_Even if oblivion faces me, I will not stop loving you..._

"It's not fair!" Beside myself in a fit of rage so potent it burns, I pick up a vase from my bedside and launch it at the wall. It shatters, leaving a damp stain on the wallpaper, the plants – dying, like all of us – collected in a heap on the floor. I stalk over, ignoring the pain of my lungs, and crouch down. I have no oxygen connected to me. My body is failing and I find I do not care.

I pick up the shards of glass, watching as they dig deep in my hands, slicing through skin. Blood wells. I press the ruins against my head, feeling the bite of broken china jab into my scalp. I yank at my hair, pulling clumps of lank strands out viciously. Any physical pain is a reprieve from the anguish inside. Distantly, I can hear the sound of screaming. And feel the drips of blood fall from my hand to my leg.

"Augustus..." I say brokenly, the sound like the screech of nails against a chalkboard. "Come back to me. Why'd you leave me? I love you, Gus, I love you, I love you, I love you."

I crawl into a ball, feeling the pain settle somewhere in my stomach, and the rush of my blood fill my thoughts as my body tries desperately to recuperate. I have no oxygen. I'm dying. I feel the sting of pain everywhere; my chest, my stomach, my legs, my head, my heart. I hurt. I am Pain personified.

"Don't be dead." I whisper over and over again. "Please, for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Live. Live for the both of us. For me. Don't be dead."

_Please. _

Something is dying within me. It is not calm, like all the stories. It is ugly and aggressive, burning a hole inside.

I hear, vaguely, the door crash open and someone shout for help, but I don't process it. I see a flash of black hair as a girl lunges for the alarm button at the side of my bed. I watch her, but barely. My vision is still blurred, inhibited by my cancer and my tears. I think it is Kaitlyn, but I cannot be sure. I cannot be sure of anything anymore.

Life throws death. I've already guessed that's true. Life throws death and it matters not who it aims for because it takes everyone anyway. No one is spared.

"You're taking me. _Take my body."_ I say, and I feel my eyelids drop. I'm so tired. "Isn't that enough for now, Death? You have me. You didn't need to take Gus, too."

"Hazel," I hear the girl try and talk to me. "Stay awake, okay? Don't go to sleep. Shit, what have you done?" She tries to pull me up to the bed, but I'm sprawled here on the floor and it's comfortable and I can feel the pain is not so bad here, after all. I resist, mumbling unintelligibly, pushing her away. I think she drags a machine over to me and tries to fumble with my tubing – she wants to save me. I cannot be saved.

"Kaitlyn," I whisper. "He's dead. I'm dead. We're all dying."

"You're not dead yet, girl." She says, and I hear a thin lace of panic in her voice, feel one of her tears drip on my hand, merging with the blood. The last shred of soul within me breaks. Kaitlyn never cries. "So hold on for me, okay?"

"What's the point?" I slur, and I feel the pain alleviate as my consciousness abates. "I need to go. To find Gus."

Look at us all. A disarray. Only shadows of the people we used to be. Cancer doesn't just take the victim. It takes everyone. Cancer has taken me. It's taken Gus. It's taken Mum and Dad and Kaitlyn. It's taken Mr. and Mrs. Waters. Cancer takes us all and spares no one. Pretending otherwise is foolish and useless.

"Stay awake, Hazel." Kaitlyn warns. "Please, stay awake. I can't lose you yet!"

"You never had me." I mutter, feeling the cold of the floor against my cheek. Everything dims. My vision, my heartbeat, my thoughts. "_Death_ had me."

"Hazel..." she shakes my arm but I barely feel it. Distantly, I hear the agonized cry of my mother, the cry of a parent when they lose their child. I see a swarm of doctors and nurses rush through the door. I see it all, but I don't. My eyes close as peace settles over me, pushing the pain away. "Hazel!"

My last thought is of him. He's the last person I see.

* * *

My name is Hazel. Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won't be able to get more than a sentence into it without dissolving into a puddle of tears. Gus knew. Gus knows. I will not tell you our love story, because - like all real love stories – it will die with us, as it should.

I can't talk about our love story, so I will talk about Math. I am not a Mathematician, but I know this: there are infinite numbers between 0 and 1. There's .1 and .12 and .112 and an infinite collection of others. Of course, there is a bigger infinite set of numbers between 0 and 2, or between 0 and a million. Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.

I want more numbers than I'm likely to get, and God, I want more numbers for Augustus Waters than he got. But, Gus, my love, I cannot tell you how thankful I am for our little infinity. I wouldn't trade it for the world. You gave me forever within the numbered days, and I am grateful.

_Okay?_

I don't get an answer. In oblivion, I never do.

#####

* * *

**It's been a wonderful journey, readers, but now it is over. So I thank you. Thank you for being wonderful people and following this story so passionately. I couldn't have done it without you. Each and every one of you is perfect. Remember that, always. Peace, friends. **


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